


Settle Our Bones Like Wood

by WeWalkADifferentPath



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: (although Grace may make a comeback), AU, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bedtime Stories, Childhood Trauma, Dysfunctional Family, Flashbacks, Fluff, Found Family, I chose major character death but tbh it's just reggie so, Kid Fic, Nightmares, No Grace or Pogo, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Protective Magnus Bane
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2020-07-20 14:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 52,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19993408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeWalkADifferentPath/pseuds/WeWalkADifferentPath
Summary: Breathe,Magnus thinks.It’s okay. It’s not then. You’re okay.And then,oh god, poor girl.(AU where Grace and Pogo don't exist, but the Shadow world does. Things end up a little differently for the Hargreeves siblings. Magnus finds them as children, in need of some help, not that they want any).





	1. a little broken, a little new

**Author's Note:**

> hey ya'll. I'm lowkey trying something new with this. No guarantees on how long this story will go on for, and I update pretty erratically, but I promise that I won't leave any major cliffhangers unless I already have the next chapter written. 
> 
> I'm going along as I go, so please bear with me and feel free to request ideas. inspired by the couple of other crossovers I've seen between these universes as well as 'holding onto one anothers hands' by razzbabie. check it out. 
> 
> also no beta so.. well, like I said, bear with me.

It’s early winter when Magnus gets the phone call.

He’s there less than 45 seconds later. The pitiable woman on the other end of the line is cut off when he steps through the portal, and he pockets his phone without another thought. 

Snow is drifting onto the street; great fluffy flakes obscure the gradually increasing morning light. It must be just after dawn. Magnus is still holding his morning coffee. He downs it in three scalding gulps, then chucks the cup into the snow. 

It’s no matter. No one is paying him any attention, and those that are won’t remember him later. 

Besides, he’s looking at a certifiable goddamn disaster.

Magnus pulls himself up short-- mentally, but also literally, mid-step-- before he gets too close, and takes a second to recenter. It’s so much like that day that he knows that he might get lost in it. As it stands, reality gets hazy around the edges for a moment before he can remind himself that he’s not, in fact, ten years old anymore and that he can breath without choking on ash. 

_Breathe,_ he thinks. _It’s okay. It’s not then. You’re okay._

And then, _oh god, poor girl._

The portal landed him just across the street from what was, at one point, the main entrance to a sprawling estate academy, and is now a pile of dust. 

As is the rest of the building. The entire, multi-thousand square foot, _city block_ of a building. 

Cops, firefighters, and the occasional EMT are scattered throughout the rubble, talking animatedly at each other or dejectedly poking at bits of what was once likely furniture. A few solitary pillars and individual walls remain standing, the only indication of the layout-- or even existence-- of what had towered over the street mere minutes ago. Everything else is particles. It’s as if someone has literally melted the place down with a precisely targeted earthquake. Or a divine cheese-grater. 

Or magic. 

_Another breath, Magnus. You’re not there. That time is over._

Besides, Magnus knows who created this particular disaster, and it wasn’t him. 

The women who had called him-- a frazzled, dismissive individual who called herself Detective Mage, ironically-- was pretty clear about who these children were and exactly why they were so important, in fairly excruciating detail. Magnus knew about the so called _Umbrella Academy,_ in passing at least. The building is adjacent to his ward as High Warlock, and beyond that, they’re famous enough that anyone who regularly watches the news recognizes the name. 

Vanya Hargreeves. 

The other children and their father refer to her exclusively as Number Seven. But there was an interview a few months ago in which one of her siblings-- Number Two, maybe, Magnus can never keep them straight-- let the name slip, and the media was on it like a swarm of excited wasps. It’s unclear whether or not Vanya is in fact her name, or what she likes to be called, but Magnus can’t bring himself to call her Number Seven, not even in his own mind. The numbers are so impersonal. It sits uneasily with him, as the whole Academy has since he first caught wind of it. For the time being, however, he resolves to keep an open mind. 

He has a job to do. 

One more deep breath. He’ll have time to decompress afterwards. To remind himself of what’s real, alone and in the safety and privacy of his loft. Perhaps with a stiff drink. He simply needs to take care of this first. 

He finds her immediately. Even from across the street, he knows the posture of someone who’s just brought the whole world down around them. 

The girl sits encased in her own arms, head between her knees. A tiny waif of a thing, certainly no older than 10 years old, with long brown hair that’s miraculously intact, hanging straight and neat down the back of her dirty uniform. She’s rocking herself with a sort of frantic urgency, and as Magnus steps closer, he can hear her mumbling. 

“Ididn’tmeantoIdidn’tmeantoIdidn’tmeantoIdidn’tmeanto--” 

A quick snap of his fingers creates a shield around his body, invisible but nearly impenetrable. His magic reaches out before him, a thin, weaving line that snakes toward the destruction, sensing for energy or magic or power. Danger. 

It finds none. 

Whatever Vanya’s done, she’s utterly deflated. 

Her head snaps up as he approaches. Wary, piercing brown eyes meet his own. She looks right through him.

“Are you here for me?” she asks. Her voice is remarkably neutral, almost cold. 

Something lurches in his chest. He’s not sure what to tell her. He remembers what it was like, to want someone to stop you so badly that it hurts. 

So he tells her the truth. “Yes,” says. He sinks himself into a crouch and she flinches backward. “It’s okay, you can’t hurt anyone anymore.” 

She stares at him. He flashes his eyes at her. She doesn’t flinch this time.

He makes his magic visible; a bubble of purple expands to surround them both with a thin veil. It’s not a force field, not exactly, but to her young eyes it must look like one. She glances at it, sitting up slowly to take stock, and then blinks back at him. She promptly bursts into tears. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. 

Then she passes out. 

–

He finds the other children afterward, hidden in a dumpster a few blocks from the accident zone and being monitored by a stern-looking Scandinavian firefighter who clearly didn’t sign up for this. 

She tells him as much as he approaches, apparently unconcerned with the fact that he’s a complete and total stranger and also carrying the body of a small unconscious child in his arms. As soon as he peeks inside the dumpster and sees the six of them there, huddled and shaking-- and immediately has no fewer than three separate knives at his throat-- she exits stage left with a scoff and a head shake.

He’s still shielded by his magic, and anyways, the knives are attached to very tiny arms, so Magnus isn’t worried. Not for himself, at least. The snow is really coming down hard now, in large, looping flakes that obscure even his vision, and Vanya is beginning to shiver. He’d magicked her a coat as soon as she’d passed out, but it can’t help much. She’s drained in a way that has little to do with the weather. 

The other siblings can’t be very warm in the dumpster, though. 

Besides, the cops from the scene have started to trail toward him now, clearly understanding that he’s done with the whole saving-their-asses-in-a-way-they-aren’t-allowed-to-ask-about part and wanting to officialize the process again. There will be calls to make, reports to fill out, questions to answer, and people to placate. There always are, but especially so with children. He has to imagine that superhuman children rank even higher on the list of concern. Mundanes have no protocols in place for something like this.

It’s not going to be easy. Still, as Magnus stares into a dozen rageful, suspicious, and fearful eyes, he feels one undeniable truth settle itself firmly-- if a little reluctantly-- into his heart. 

He will be taking this strange, vulnerable, spiky bunch of misfit children home with him. 

Tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we kick up the dust a little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this chaos? yes. Do I know what I’m doing? no. will I keep doing it? You betchya
> 
> a short chapter before things can settle a bit

It’s no surprise to anyone that Magnus can be… impulsive. 

Capricious. Impetuous. Ill-considered. Foolhardy. 

He’s certainly been called all of these things. Among other, less kind insults, of course. Most of them true. He likes to think of himself as a person of measure and forethought; being a warlock in his position-- being a downworlder at all, frankly-- requires it. But he can admit that he has his weak spots. Among the list include his dismal love life, Shadowhunters, and, relevant presently, his own childhood trauma. 

Which will be his excuse-- if anyone asks-- when he finds himself in the Jade Wolf with seven armed, supernatural children. 

“What the hell?”

The restaurant erupts in exclamations. Something sharp is pressed against Magnus’s jugular; a knife, not a fang. The lights flicker with the surge created by the portal, and for a moment, they’re plummeted into darkness before the generator kicks in. Someone is already growling. 

Perhaps this was a bad idea. 

“Drop my sister,” a boy snarls in his ear. 

“Don’t move!” another boy shouts from across the room. A throwing knife whistles past his face then blows sideways, deflected by protective magic. 

Magnus blinks. 

“Alright, one moment.” He leans forward slowly, knife still at his neck, and deposits the girl in his arms gently onto a grease-slicked table. She murmurs in her unconsciousness, shifting slightly on the hard surface. “There, I’ve put Vanya down.” When he straightens he sends a quick glance around the restaurant, holding up a hand to the scattering of werewolves who are watching him warily. The last thing that he needs is someone trying something. One of the older men sits back down, but his nails clutch the edge of the table and he flashes his eyes at Magnus. 

They will abide by his warning, but not forever. 

“Her name is Number Seven,” one of the children corrects. The remaining five siblings are clumped together across the building, brushing themselves off and staring at Magnus with varying degrees of confusion, focus, and anger. The only other girl in the group raises her tiny fists. 

“Number Seven, then.”

“Step away slowly,” the boy at his ear orders. “And tell us what you’re doing here.” 

“How are you getting through my magic?” Magnus asks instead. “You shouldn’t be able to have that knife on me. Not that it could actually break skin, but still.” 

“I’m the one asking the questions,” the boy argues, but his hand has started trembling. 

Magnus turns just slightly to look at the child. All of them are the same age, he knows, but this boy looks younger than Vanya. He’s small, white, with a flop of brown hair half-hanging over one wild eye. His uniform has blood on the sleeve cuffs. Number Six, maybe? Five? 

“I simply came to-”

“Magnus, what the fuck?” 

Luke strolls into the room, one hand on the gun at his hip. He takes in the children in uniform, the dimmed lights, and the blade at Magnus’s neck. “What are you doing here?”

A crack breaks the air and an explosion of blue pops behind him. The boy, somehow, is now on Luke, who’s hands instantly rise in surrender. Luke quirks a look at Magnus, and Magnus shrugs, like _what are you gonna do._

The growl that reverberates around the restaurant is raucous. They aren’t waiting anymore. 

“Call off your dogs, Luke. Please.”

Luke rolls his eyes and nods, flashing green at his pack before saying, with authority, “hold. They’re just kids.” 

“That kid has a knife on you!” 

“Shut up, Russel. I said hold.”

_Yeah, Russel._ There’s something so deliciously satisfying about listening to Luke calling that asshole to heed. Besides, Luke’s fine. Magnus’s magic is covering everyone in here. Russel doesn’t seem very happy or grateful to hear that, though, rumbling a low warning note in the back of his throat. Luke growls back. 

“Where are we?” another boy, who hasn’t spoken until now, breaks the tension with his quiet question. Number One. The one with enhanced strength. 

“The Jade Wolf,” Luke answers, demeanor instantly switching to ‘friendly uncle Luke’ as he turns toward the child, paying no mind to the knife shaking chaotically at his throat. “It’s a restaurant. My restaurant. My-- my friends live here.”

“Why are we here?” 

“That’s a good question.” Luke raises an eyebrow at Magnus. Magnus tries to look innocent.

“I uh, portaled you here,” Magnus explains. 

“Yes, but _why,_ Magnus?” Luke asks at the same time as the knife-wielder yells, “ _You_ can portal?” 

“I couldn’t exactly turn them over to the mundane police,” he defends. 

“So you brought them _here?_ ”

“They’re just kids, Luke! But they have powers, you know that. The cops were trailing closer and Vanya--” he indicates her on the table with a tilt of his chin-- “was going into shock. I figured we could re-coop here. And maybe you could...”

“No, Magnus. I’m not going to pull strings for you in the NYPD again!” 

“Lucian, please. You know how these things go. I just need time to figure out my next steps.”

Luke glares at him, then sighs. “Fine,” he says. He takes a quick side-step away from the table that the tiny hostage-taker is standing on, whirling away from the knife to move closer to Magnus. The kid’s jaw drops; he lowers the knife resentfully. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. But you can’t keep them here in the meantime.”

Magnus nods. “I know.”

“You’re going to anyways, aren’t you?”

Magnus smiles. “Well, maybe just for breakfast. You hungry, kids?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the three knives pointing at Magnus from the dumpster last chapter? I firmly believe that Five Hargreeves was holding all three of them.


	3. Chapter 3

The man is a wizard. 

Not a really one, obviously. (Wizards aren’t real. That’s what their father says and Diego is meant to believe him on everything). 

But the man might as well be a wizard. He makes things happen like magic; he teleported them all to this place, for starters, which Diego thought only Five could do. It’s more than that though. Everyone seems to give him what he wants. And he doesn’t seem scared of anything. 

Diego hates him instantly. 

The man didn’t even flinch when Five popped up behind him, knife to his jugular. He’d carried Number Seven, and that made Diego even more furious, in more ways than he could keep track of.

(He wanted to tell this stranger to get away from his sister, but he also wanted to tell _her_ to get away from everyone _else_ ).

Now, he watches from the booth as the man-- who’s called Magnus, which is a dumb name, too-- makes phone call after phone call. He talks to the other man, Luke, in between each call, in hushed whispers that they aren’t supposed to overhear. 

Diego doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on. It makes something uneasy settle into his stomach, and that makes him angry. Luke offers them food and Diego shakes his head and tugs roughly on Klaus’s sleeve in warning. None of them take anything. 

It’s cold in the restaurant but warmer than it had been in the dumpster, at least. Not that he cares. He can handle a little cold. He could’ve handled it in the dumpster, too, if Magnus hadn’t made them come here instead. 

He was going to figure out what happened. But now he can’t. At least not until he can get out of here. 

“Who the hell are you, anyways?” Five asks Luke, who doesn’t react to the hostility except to smile a little gentler. Diego hates him, too. 

“My name is Luke, I’m a cop. It’s alright, you kids are safe now.” He pushes the mug of hot chocolate a little closer to Five, who ignores it.

“Who were all those other men?” Number Three asks, at the same time as Five says, “Safe from you and your friend, you mean? He’s the one who kidnapped us.”

Luke’s eyebrows furrow. “Magnus? No-- he was called to your house to help. With the… accident.”

Five snarls. “There was no accident. You two did this. Tell me why.” 

Luke’s eyebrows go all the way up this time. “Why would we--?”

“Luke, a word, please?” Magnus pockets the phone. He beckons Luke toward the back room. 

Luke glances at Magnus, then stares back at them warily. He nods. “Stay here,” he tells them. 

Yeah, right. 

As soon as the men are out of sight, Diego stands up. “I’m out of here.” 

“Me too,” Klaus says. He rises unsteadily and pulls his sleeves down over his hands, which their father hates. He says that it’s _sloppy._ “Let’s blow this popsicle stand. Ben?”

Number Six shakes his head. “Klaus, we can’t.”

“Maybe _you_ can’t, but I’m leaving,” Diego argues. “I’m gonna go see what happened to our house.”

(The ground shaking with a rumbling so loud that it hurt his ears. A bright flash of light like the sun had fallen down. The alarm. Klaus screaming. The window, the ladder, the dumpster, his siblings, Three Four Five Six and no Seven, and then eventually One. He doesn't want to think about it, but he needs to know more). 

“I should come,” Klaus says hurriedly. “Besides, someone needs to find dad, right?” 

“Like you care about finding dad,” Number Three sneers. A piece of her hair falls in front of her face, caked in dust and garbage, and she pushes it away. “I’m not going. I don’t trust this Magnus guy.”

“Number One?” Diego asks, crossing his arms defensively. He doesn’t care what Luther is doing, but he better not try to stop them from leaving. He’s been quiet this whole time, not bossy like he usually is, but that’s not always a good thing. Diego scratches at the scar on his eyebrow and glares. 

Luther looks surprised to be asked. He shakes his head and clears his throat, peeling his gaze away from Number Seven still lying on the next table. “It’s not a good idea. Allison is right. We should all stay here.”

Diego rolls his eyes. A searing blaze of anger rolls up his throat. Of course Number One would say that. He always wants to take the boring, easy route, even if it’s no good for anybody. 

Diego looks to Five for back-up, but he's not paying them any attention. He's still looking to where Magnus had left, eyes sharp with concentration and hands clenched.

“You can’t stop me,” Diego warns. 

Luther sighs heavily, like he’s exhausted. “Yes, I can. Don’t do this, Two.”

_“Don’t tell me what to do.”_

“I’m the leader. I say we don’t go.”

“It wasn’t even your idea to hide in the stupid dumpster!” Diego yells. “If it were up to you we all might be dead. Where were you, One?”

Luther’s face turns white as a sheet. “Shut up. You don’t know anything.”

“You can’t stop me from going back to the house. You can’t do anything.” 

“Leave it alone.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re scared. What if the person who did it is still there?”

“I said no--" 

“Guys, stop it!” Number Six calls. “Magnus is coming back.”

Diego clenches his jaw, squeezing his knife until his knuckles turn white. Luther always ruins everything. Now they’re stuck here and their house is probably broken and Number Seven is still unconscious and the _bad guy is still out there._

Diego slams his knife into the table. 

Klaus sits back down obediently as Magnus approaches the table, but Diego stays standing. He’s leaving, one way or another, and this guy can’t stop him either. Even if he does have Five’s power. 

Magnus fidgets as he stops in front of them. He looks nervous. Good.

“Kids,” Magnus says. He takes a deep breath in, then lets it out in a rush. “I have some bad news.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally we get a longer chapter! Things are rolling now. 
> 
> I want to thank y'all so much for the response I've had so far-- it's awesome! This is a project that I've had in the works for a while so it's genuinely fun to be able to post each chapter and read responses.

When Magnus was 26 years old, he lived for three years in the streets of Madrid, in Spain. 

_Lived_ being a loose term. He slept there, he ate there, he existed there, but didn’t have a home. It was a period of great economic change and artistic flourishing-- Spain’s _Siglo de Oro,_ as it would later be termed-- but Magnus was privy to little of that. He was more focused on his next meal. 

When he was 27 years old, he found a small empty house in the south side of the city and broke the lock with an iron screw that he pulled from the window sill. Each day he wandered the city, keeping to the shadows, and each night he watched the house for an hour to ensure the coast was still clear before letting himself in and retiring to bed. 

He slept there for 33 nights, and on the 34th, someone came home. 

Her name was Ana. She was the wife of a middle class Catholic merchant and the daughter of a blacksmith. She was beautiful, and kind, and when she found Magnus in her bedroom on the 34th night, she pulled a knife on him, but she let him sleep on the couch. 

They became inseparable. 

Except for when they had to separate. 

Ana would leave for hours or weeks, and return with brittle smiles and bruises on the underside of her arms. Whenever he asked her about it, she’d wave her hand at him and say, over and over, “shh querida. Estoy bien.” It’s fine. 

She flinched when he touched her. She seldom touched anything in her own home, except to polish or wash it, over and over and over. When Magnus asked her why she slept alone each night, and where her husband was, she pressed her lips together and shook her head at him. He never asked again. 

Every morning Magnus would leave before dawn, and every night she’d light a candle in her window, and Magnus would return. 

Many months later, there was a knock on her door. They were up together past midnight, always talking, only ever talking, and when they heard the noise, Magnus fled to the bedroom and watched from a crack in the door. 

It was a merchant. At first Magnus thought it might be her husband, whom he’d never seen. But when Anna waved him inside, the man asked her to sit. 

The news broke over Ana like a wave. 

She didn’t cry. She hardly moved. He couldn’t hear her speaking, but he saw her eyes. How they hardened. How they changed. 

It confused him, and frightened him. He’d never seen anyone with eyes like that before. 

(He would again, however, a thousand times over the course of his lifetime. The eyes of survivors never changed).

Ana’s husband was a cruel man, but he was her anchor as well as her prison. She had no life without him. She’d never had a life with him. 

Fate can be just as cruel as men, to those who need gentleness the most. 

– 

When Magnus breaks the latest twist of cruel fate to the six children in front of him, he thinks of Ana once again. 

“That-- that’s not true.” Number One lifts his gaze to meet Magnus’s. “That’s not true. You’re lying.”

The children stare at him with blank expressions. The little boy with the knife-- who Magnus has decided is in fact Number Five-- forms his mouth into what looks like a cross between a smile and a grimace. No one else moves. 

“Your father… they found evidence that he was in the building when it exploded. I am truly sorry.”

“Exploded?” The little girl asks. There’s dirt and garbage and maybe blood in her curls, but she doesn’t seem to notice. None of the children seem to notice how tiny and fragile and war-worn they look. 

_Estoy bien. Prometo que estoy bien, Magnus._

Magnus nods, keeping his movements slow. “That’s the other bad news. Unfortunately the house is… unsalvageable. I saw that part with my own eyes. It’s gone.”

When the children take off-- Five in a flash of blue and the others on foot-- Magnus doesn’t stop them.

–

Three hours later he goes to collect them, where they’re standing in the rubble of their old lives. 

They come home with him without a word. No one asks why the explosion happened, for which he’s grateful. He’s not sure that he could explain that part right now, not without falling so far into flashbacks of a life he once had that he’d be remiss to look after children. 

He sets the table with six places, and they sit and eat, quickly and mechanically. 

He tells them that Vanya is sleeping in the guest bedroom; Five blinks out and returns with a silent nod of confirmation. 

Number One has a bruise on his face that wasn’t there before. The spindly boy with startling green eyes-- Number Four, Magnus has done his research now, he knows their numbers, he only wishes he knew their names-- has tear tracks on his face and won’t stop clawing at his wrists. Number Two keeps one hand in his pocket, the other white-knuckled around his spoon. 

After they finish their meal, Magnus explains the plan. He’ll take them in for the night, and for the next number of nights, until a more appropriate long term solution can be established. If that’s okay with them, of course. They need choice. He wants to establish choice.

“And why would you take us?” Number Three asks. She straightens her stance tall in her chair, seems unperturbed by the silence she’s just shattered. “Why would you want us?”

Behind her, Five’s narrowed eyes echo her question.

Magnus hesitates. What can he possibly say? The truth seems the wisest path-- but how can he say it aloud to them, when it hurts so much just to feel it? How can he explain to these tiny, wary children that when he looks at them he feels a pain as old as time itself, but one which is nevertheless profoundly and deeply disturbing each time it is encountered? 

There are no words for the ache of abuse. 

“Rumour him,” Number Five orders offhandedly. 

“Are you sure?” Number Three asks. She tilts her head toward Five, but her eyes never leave Magnus. “We aren’t allowed to--”

“For God’s sake Number Three, grow up--”

“It won’t work anyway,” Magnus cuts in.

“What?” Number Three straightens back to face him. 

“It won’t work. I’ve got… precautions, against your powers.”

“He’s lying,” Number Two cuts in. “Rumour him.”

Number Three looks conflicted. She takes her eyes off of Magnus to look for Five’s approval, and when he shrugs, she appears to steel her resolve. 

“I heard a rumour that you-- that you put your left hand on your head!”

Magnus, of course, doesn’t move. 

After a moment, the group erupts. 

“How is that possible!”

“Try again, something better this time.”

“It should’ve worked--- I did it right, Two, shut up.” 

But it’s Five who addresses Magnus directly. “Why didn’t it?” he asks. His knife is back where it’s clearly visible. He grips it tightly in between his thumb and index finger, gaze directly on Magnus. 

Perhaps a particular version of the truth might work well, here. 

Magnus takes a moment to step closer to Five, using his last step to fold into a crouch. Five frowns. 

“I’m just like you,” Magnus says. And with a long, slow blink, he drops his glamour. 

It’s an uncomfortable feeling no matter how many times he does it, and this time is no different. But he’d done it for their sister and it had immediately calmed her; once upon a time, someone had done the same for him. 

Number Four gasps. Everyone else goes dead silent once again. 

“So you do have powers,” Three says. 

Magnus inclines his head. “Something like that,” he settles on. 

“What can you do?” Five’s eyes are alight now, with both intrigue and fear. Magnus smiles gently.

“Many things. But-- you asked me why I would have you children stay in my home with me. That’s the answer. You all deserve to feel safe, and I think that I can keep you safe better than--” he cuts himself off on a word like _normal,_ or even _mundane_ \-- “than a non-powered adult.”

“You’re lying!” Number Two chimes in again. He points his finger at Magnus, expression vitriolic. 

Magnus blinks. The accusation takes him aback, a little. He hadn’t expected that his honesty wouldn’t be enough. Naive of him, perhaps, but all of the children he’s been around lately have been well taken care of and sweet. It’s been a number of years, decades even, since he’s been around such anger in someone so young. Such distrust. 

But doesn’t he remember what it was like? With Raphael it had taken him years to learn to trust the feeling of knowing one’s place in the world again. What’s love from a caregiver, after all, when God has forsaken you? When you have forsaken yourself? 

And doesn’t Magnus remember feeling it, too? (Doesn’t he feel like that still, sometimes? In his darkest moments). The certainty that at all kindness, all safety, were commodities to be bargained for, and guarded greedily. That nothing was free. That no one meant well. A certainty known so intimately that it weaves itself into the very fabric of your life, until you forget that it’s knowledge at all and just take it as truth. It’s possible these children have never known any differently. 

“He wants to keep the others safe _from_ us,” Number Four says. “Obviously.”

Number One hangs his head. “I would never hurt a citizen,” he says, a bit uncertainly. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Five cuts in. “We aren’t going with him anyways.” 

Magnus, still crouching in front of him, tries to meet his eye without success. “Where would you intend to go?” 

Five’s gaze strays even further out along the corners of the room. “We would figure it out.” 

“We can’t be just with each other, dummy,” Number Three chides. “It’s illegal.”

“I know that,” Five hisses at her. “But we can’t go with him, either.”

“We’re _already_ here.”

“Well we can’t _stay,_ Four!” 

Number Four crosses his arms. “Well I’m not staying if Luther’s here!”

“None of us are staying, that’s what I’m _saying._ ”

“I’m not going anywhere where Luther is either!” 

“I thought you wanted to stay.”

“I do, but you said we can’t!” 

“That’s because we--”

“I think we have to.” A small, steady voice cuts off the bickering. The last little boy, who so far has had little to say, carefully steps forward. “We don’t have anywhere else to go.” He looks down at his stomach, hands pressed on it mournfully as though he has a stomach ache. “Not anywhere safe.”

“I promise that my home will be safe for you,” Magnus assures. “I can’t guarantee everything else, but I can promise that much. For all of you.” He glances at the room where Vanya’s still sleeping. 

The little boy with the stomach ache-- number Six, Magnus realizes-- scans his sibling’s faces. Then he looks back at Number Five, who doesn’t move a muscle but must be communicating something, because finally Six turns back to Magnus and nods. 

It’s settled, then. 

Something terrifying and hopeful takes flight in Magnus’ stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really gonna have to stop giving characters knives. This is a lot, y'all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is what the kids would call _a roll_

A camp is erected in the living room. Six cots, six sleeping bags, and far too many blankets and pillows. Magnus’s desire to keep things familiar for the children wars with his urge to _nest_ and loses. They spread out around the room and stare at the ceiling, still and solemn.

Half an hour later, the gentle noises of children sleeping begin their chorus. 

Five refuses to sleep, and instead reappears with one of Magnus’s books in his hand and a challenging stare in the darkness. Magnus magics him a flashlight right into his hands, which Five drops in surprise and then acts nonchalant about. Magnus ducks his head to hide a smile. 

Number Four can’t seem to sleep. He tosses and turns with a pillow stuck to his face so tightly he might asphyxiate. When Magnus asks him if he can help, he blinks at him with wide eyes and shakes his head, and Magnus doesn’t push.

All of the children sleep restlessly. Shallowly. It’s the sleep of ex-military members, downworld leaders, and refugees. Magnus works silently to avoid waking them.

Vanya needs near-constant monitoring. The house needed rearranging, to create an appropriate number of bedrooms, and to reinforce the defensive wards now that there are children in his care. There’s also the issue of a child who can teleport; Magnus finally settles on a complex web of wards, which allow a person to portal throughout the house, but not outside of it, and not into select, locked rooms where he stores his magical items and weapons. 

There is also a concern with how to…. _contain_ a number of unknown powers with unknown origins and unclear repercussions. He felt sick when Number Four suggested that Magnus needs to keep the world safe from them, but in truth, that’s his duty as much as any of his other tasks. Vanya has already created a destruction that no child should ever have to bear witness to, let alone be responsible for. 

It will not happen again. 

A shout breaks through from the living room. The other children are awake, and have formed a cautious semi-circle around Number One, who’s thrashing wildly in his sleep. His sleeping bag is torn clear in half and as he jolts, a lamp goes tumbling to the floor with a loud crash. 

He wakes up gasping, limbs flailing. One fist connects and hits Number Four squarely in the stomach, and he doubles over, landing on his butt with an _oof._ Number Six growls. 

“Everyone step back, please.” Magnus parts through the children with his hands raised. “Are you alright, Number Four?” he asks over his shoulder as he crouches in front of Number One. The boy is covered in sweat and stares at his own hands with frantic, dawning comprehension. 

“Yes,” Four answers. It makes Magnus vaguely sick to have called a child by a number that way, but this situation is no time to ruminate on that. 

“Number One. Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” 

The boy doesn’t answer, doesn’t even seem to see Magnus. His eyes are on the lamp on the floor.

Magnus decides to try something. He heard Number Four use the name earlier, about someone-- it might not be correct, but something in his gut tells him that it is. 

“Luther…” The boys eyes snap up to Magnus’s face, searching. “Luther, is that your name? It’s okay, you were having a nightmare, but everything is okay. No harm done, right?”

Luther wets his lips and drops his head. “My name is Number One,” he whispers. 

_Ouch, okay._ Magnus does his best to smile in a way that hides his sick sadness. “Right, Number One. How about we all have some dinner, hmm? I think we’re all awake now.” 

“Yes, sir.”

–

On the way to the table, Magnus skims a cautious stream of magic down Four’s side, where the punch had landed. Four flinches, but he’ll be okay. He’ll have a nasty bruise, but no internal damage. 

Magnus hands him a bag of frozen peas and Four tilts his head at it, until Six grabs it out of his hands and rests it on the sore spot. 

Magnus hands one to Number One, too, for his fist where it hit the lamp, but he ignores it, leaving it on the table beside him as he picks at his food. 

The children eat dinner the same way they had lunch. Mechanically, quietly. This time Magnus eats with them. He takes the chance to examine them further, at least what he can see, for blood and dirt and any other wounds or signs of illness. They’ll all need to bathe, that’s for certain, but it's lower on the list of priorities. 

When everyone’s finished, Magnus clears his throat. All the children straighten except Five, who slouches further in his chair and examines his sleeve cuffs lazily, and Two, who straightens at first and then hunches over, staring at the table. 

“I was wondering if I may ask you children something,” Magnus hedges. 

No visible response. He hadn’t meant it rhetorically-- _choice, the children need choice_ \-- but he pushes forward nonetheless.

“Firstly, I need to let you know that my friend Catarina will be coming over shortly, to help your sister.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Three asks. 

Magnus blows out some breath. “She’s still unconscious. She’ll be alright, but since she can’t eat or drink until she wakes up, she needs an IV. Catarina is a nurse. You’ll all be welcome to visit your sister and watch, if you’d like, so you know that she’s safe.

“In the meantime, I’d like to ask about your names. Or rather, what you would like to be called while you stay with me. I know that Number Seven is sometimes called Vanya, and Number One, you’ve told me that that’s the name you prefer. But I’d like to know about the rest of you.”

“My name’s Klaus,” Number Four speaks up. Number Six and Number Two both elbow him from either side, and he clamps his mouth shut. 

“Klaus. That’s a lovely name,” Magnus says cautiously. Number Four-- Klaus-- grins shyly. 

“Anyone else?” Magnus asks. 

Number Two carves a streak in the table with his fork. “Diego,” he mutters, without looking up. 

“Alright, Diego. Number Three?”

Number Three shoots a look at Number One, who shakes his head. Her shoulders slump. “Just Three is fine, thank you.”

Magnus nods. “Okay, let me know if that changes though, okay? It can always change.” He glances at Five, who’s still pretending not to be paying attention. “And you?”

“It’s just Five.”

“Lovely. Six?”

“Uhm.. Six is fine. Or Ben. Just not.. nevermind.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ben.”

Magnus slumps with relief at that last name, feeling almost dizzy. Having names for some of these children-- wherever the names come from, whatever they mean-- allows one of the shadows over his heart to lift. They can do this. They’ll get there. 

“And you can call me Magnus.” 

–

“Are you sure about this, Magnus? The _Umbrella Academy?_ ”

Catarina adjusts the IV bag connected to Vanya’s hand with practiced ease, and then turns to face him. She just came off of a shift at the hospital so her glamour is up, and she’s in obnoxious bubblegum pink scrubs, her hair fastened neatly in a braided knot. 

Right now, she’s the most beautiful sight Magnus has ever seen. 

“Not even a little bit.”

She doesn’t laugh. Instead she regards him with a heaviness that only she, Ragnor, and Raphael have ever seemed capable of. Magnus isn’t entirely convinced they aren’t all coaching each other behind his back, frankly. 

“How long are they going to be with you?”

Magnus double checks the soundproofing magic in the room, again, while he pauses to collect his words. The kids had watched from the doorway as Catarina inspected and treated Vanya, and then Magnus had split them into two groups and sent them to the loft’s two bathrooms, armed with fluffy towels, toothbrushes, and even a rubber ducky. They can’t hear him, but it still makes him antsy to talk about them like they aren’t in the house. 

“I’m not sure. A while, maybe. We need to find a place that will take all seven of them.”

“Do you even know what their powers are?” 

Magnus shuffles uncomfortably. “Well Number One has enhanced strength, we all know that from the television interviews. Number Five can create instant portals for himself, with an effect much like teleportation.”

“Teleportation? Magnus.”

“I know, I know. But my place is warded.”

“Isn’t Number Two the one who took down those bank robbers with a knife? Maybe that’s his power.”

“Diego.”

“Sorry?”

“That’s his name, Diego.”

“Oh, Magnus.” Cat places a hand on his arm and squeezes, gently. “You’re in this so deep already, aren’t you?” It’s not really a question. She knows him too well. 

“Oh, and--” he clears his throat, resisting the urge to pull his arm out of her grasp. “Number Three seems to have some sort of ability to control people with her voice. She tried to get me to put my hand on my head, by saying that she heard a rumour.” 

“That seems consistent with what their father teased to the reporters,” Cat agrees. “This would be much easier if they were only a few years older. Although I guess it’s good, in a way, that it happened before they were fully debuted to the public. This way they may get some privacy here, if you’re careful.”

 _It’s good, in a way, that it happened now._ Her voice is clinical, detached. But he knows her, too. She’s just as concerned for these kids as he is. 

“Cat, I don’t.” Tears begin to pool in his eyes, and Magnus scrubs them away. “I don’t know what I’m doing. This girl, she totally blew her house to bits. The other siblings don’t even know that it was her. I’m not even sure that she knows, not entirely. And with the state of the world right now… you’ve heard the rumours, about Valentine returning. People are scared. It’s not a good time, but what can I do? She killed their father, Cat. His body-- his ashes-- were found in the rubble. She’s a child, and she killed him.”

Cat shakes her head. “Magnus…” She wraps her arms around him and he caves into her, resting his head down onto her shoulder. He can’t hold himself up anymore, and she seems to know that, gripping him tightly and sending her magic rippling through his back as she rubs it. It’s comforting. Familiar. Healing. Her magic tells him that it’ll be alright. It reminds him, ironically, that he’s human. 

“Listen. I don’t know what these kids are, but they aren’t strictly human. That makes them ours. The Downworld will watch out for them, no matter what’s going on with Valentine. Beyond that, they’ll support you. And this-- this girl, whatever she did, it’s not like what happened with you, love. It won’t be like that, because they have you, now. Okay?” 

Magnus nods into her shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispers. Then he straightens. 

He can’t mourn forever. He’s got more work to do, and these kids are counting on him. 

There’s a rustle of noise from the bed, and Magnus glances over, alert. Vanya is awake, and she’s staring between him and Cat with something akin to horror. 

“Vanya, you’re--”

“I killed him,” she whispers. “I killed him. I killed father. What-- You can’t-- you can’t tell them. Oh god, please don’t tell them. Please, please don’t tell them, please.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a little later than usual, I've been sick so editing was not happening. hopefully it all still reads clearly
> 
> we've passed 50 subscribers (and a thousand hits and a hundred kudos)! y'all are the best. as a celebration, we finally have just a teeensy bit of fluff, with one of the hargreeves kids that let's be honest most of y'all are here for ;) 
> 
> trigger warning in this chapter for sedation of a child

The whole world is burning. 

The noise is overwhelming. A thousand cracks of thunder ring through the air all at once, and it keeps going. It just keeps going and going and going and going, until Vanya covers her ears with her hands and squeezes tight, and then suddenly there’s silence. 

The world tilts on its axis. She’s at home. Klaus is falling down the stairs like a tumbleweed. There’s blood when he lands. It tilts again and she’s in the basement, her father telling her that she’s very special and very, very dangerous. It tilts again. Diego sneers at her. She can’t be trusted. It tilts again and now she’s falling, through fire and into more fire, and there’s no ground to land on because everything is fire. She takes her hands off of her ears and the thunder cracks again, and this time, the house splits in two. 

The house is talking. 

“She tried to get me to put my hand on my head--” 

“-- consistent with what their father teased to the reporters.”

“people are scared… killed her father.”

“-- aren’t strictly human.”

“Magnus.”

“Killed her father.”

“Ashes.”

_“a child and she killed him.”_

The world tilts on its axis, and Vanya wakes up. 

–

The words are coming out of her mouth before she even processes them, before she even understands that she’s talking. She’s begging this man not to tell her siblings what she’s done. Pleading with him. Because they already hate her so much and if they knew- if anyone knew--

“Vanya. I’m Magnus, do you remember me?”

She killed him. She killed her father. She killed him and now he’s dead and he’s not coming back and--

“Remember this? The magic. You’re safe.” 

Safe. She’ll never be safe again. No one else will ever be safe as long as she’s around. She killed him, she killed him, she killed him. She’s a murderer. She exploded everything, she destroyed everything, and she’ll destroy this place too, she’ll hurt this man--

“Where are my pills?” she asks him. She’s choking on her own words, they’re all trying to come out too fast. _Don’t tell them I’m sorry please make it stop._ “I need them, I need my pills.”

They aren’t in her pockets. She destroyed them. The house was burning. They’re probably burnt too. 

Oh god, are her brothers and sister still even alive? 

“What pills, sweetling?” 

“My-- my sister. Five. Diego. Are they-- my pills were in my pocket.”

“Your siblings are all fine, Vanya. They’re here in the other room. I’m afraid I don’t know about any pills.” His voice sounds strained, like he’s lifting something heavy. 

A crack of thunder. Maybe a light bulb has exploded. She needs her pills or she’s going to kill everyone, that’s what father says. 

“I’m sorry. Oh, I can’t breathe. I can’t-- I’m choking. I killed-- the light bulb--”

Magnus tilts his head at her. “What light bulb? Vanya, you can’t hurt anyone, do you understand? You can’t break anything. I have your powers contained right now.” 

_“Please I’m sorry please I’m sorry please.”_

“Cat?” Magnus looks over his shoulder at something. Someone. “Cat, I think...”

“Yeah. I’ve got it, Magnus. Why don’t you go take a minute to cool down?”

“I can’t leave her. Not like this.” Magnus scratches at his eye with his sleeve. He’s staring at her too closely. She doesn’t understand.

“I’ve got this, I promise. Go take a minute. For the other kid’s sake, if not for your own.”

Magnus leaves, and Vanya wants to call to him, to tell him to come back, to tell him to fix her house, fix the light bulb, fix her father, but she can’t, because he’s gone, and then a wave of something cool and green washes over her eyes and she’s plunged back into darkness. 

–

Routine.

Routine is important, yes? Young children need routine, particularly those who have recently experienced a traumatic event. 

(Magnus may or may not have spent far too many sleepless nights over the past few centuries scouring through any available material on childhood trauma. He had a lot to make sense of, and then later, a lot to be responsible for). 

He sends the children to bed. He shows them each of their rooms, the extra blankets, the glasses of water on each of their nightstands. He takes a minute to wish each child a good night’s sleep and to reassure them that their sister will be fine and that he’ll see them in the morning. They’re still not asking any questions or crying but Catarina assures him that it’s normal, they’re probably just in shock.

He knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to see. 

(It doesn’t help that he’s not entirely convinced that shock is the only reason that these children are numb). 

Catarina retires to her own bed a few hours later, with strict orders to call if anything changes and she’ll portal back. Magnus thanks her as profusely as he can in his exhausted state. 

(Not that he’ll sleep for all of his exhaustion. It seems as though the only one who will get any sleep tonight is Vanya). 

(And who knows what she’s seeing behind her eyelids).

Klaus’s avid tossing and turning finally prompts Magnus to go check on him. He creeps toward the room slowly but noisily, not wanting to startle the boy. 

Klaus is wide awake. He’s already sitting up in bed, twitchy and uncomfortable and with the blankets tucked in tightly around every section of his body. His hands cover his ears until he notices Magnus watching. 

They drop to his sides. 

“You’re not asleep,” Magnus comments quietly.

“I can’t fall asleep,” Klaus stage whispers back. “I’m too awake.”

Magnus makes a gesture like _can I come in_ and Klaus bites his lip and nods, eyes flickering everywhere and hands in constant motion. Magnus sits down slowly on the very edge of the bed; it moves a little under his weight, and both he and Klaus take a moment to notice it. “Too awake, huh? Me too.”

Klaus smiles wide and flashy, like a car salesman convincing a customer. His eyes glint in the light from the hallway. “You could always read me a bed time story.” 

“A bedtime story, hmm? Is that what people do when they can’t sleep?”

Klaus shrugs, smile dropping down at the edges. “So I’ve been told.” He looks over Magnus’s shoulder and then away, wringing one pinky finger in the other hand. 

“I suppose I could give it a try. If you think that it will help me fall asleep.” 

“It might,” Klaus says. He rearranges himself, folding his legs one over another in a contorted position and then rebundling the blankets up around his shoulders. “I heard that the one about the ugly duckling helps people get sleepy. You know, when they tell it. Do you know that one?”

Magnus pauses to feign consideration, and Klaus cracks a tiny smile again. 

“There once was an ugly duckling, who all of the other ducklings made fun of because he looked different than them. He was gray and scraggly instead of brown and downy, and he spoke with a voice that was squeaky instead of squawky...”

He projects an image of the ugly duckling onto Klaus’s bedroom wall. One by one the other ducklings appear and join the projection, circling around the first until they’re all there, with a little pond and some fronds and grasses. Klaus startles and then gasps, pointing silently at the ducks with a flailing arm movement that almost knocks Magnus in the face. 

“Way cool,” he stage whispers into his blanket, and Magnus chuckles. 

He does the voices and he moves the images, and Klaus watches with the rapt half-attention of a child who can’t sit still and has seen too much. When they near the end of the story, where the ugly little duckling is supposed to turn into a beautiful swan, Magnus decides to take it a bit of a different route. 

“A goose?” Klaus giggles. “I don’t think that’s right.”

“Oh no, he absolutely is a goose,” Magnus says, flattening his eyebrows and nodding sincerely. “Because here’s the twist: the mean ducks that made fun of the goose, they all still think that he’s ugly even now that he’s grown up. But guess what?”

“What?”

“He decides that even though it hurts his feelings, he’s not going to believe what the ducklings say. Instead, he goes and finds himself a loving family somewhere else, in a different pond.”

“Of gooses?”

“Geese,” Magnus corrects gently. It feels like an appropriate moment to touch Klaus’s nose or ruffle his hair, but instead he retracts his magic from the wall and the room settles back into darkness. “Yes, a family with geese. But also a family with swans, and pelicans, and frogs, and even a few nice ducks that don’t say that he’s ugly.”

“You’re making this up,” Klaus accuses. Magnus shrugs. 

“Sure,” he admits. “All stories are made up. But they are all also true.”

Klaus raises his eyebrows and pulls a hand out of his hair to point at Magnus. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe not.”

There’s a long pause, and then Klaus says, almost too quietly for Magnus to hear. “I hope the goose’s family doesn’t die.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

“Alright,” Magnus concedes. He stands carefully, and waits until Klaus wiggles back down into the blankets. The child is still looking from left to right with furtive glances, but he seems steadier now. His breathing is more even. Magnus tucks a piece of blanket closer to his shoulder, and Klaus watches the action carefully. 

Magnus takes a reluctant few steps back from the bed. “Light on or off?”

Klaus shrugs. He’s folded in across himself now, arms crossed and gaze toward his chest. He doesn’t look at Magnus as he walks across the room.

“Okay, how about I leave it on, then? You can always call me back to turn it off.”

Silence. The moment, then, is thoroughly lost for now. Magnus sighs. 

“Okay. You let me know if you need anything, I’ll be awake. Goodnight, little goose.” 

–

It’s quiet in Magnus’s office. He makes a cup of coffee just to have something to hold. He opens interviews, videos, and articles; each image makes him feel sick. 

Eventually, the steam drifting off of his cup in loping whirls convinces his eyes to close, and he sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so what do y'all think? do you like my random chapter updating whenever I'm finished each one, where you'll get updates more often but it's inconsistent? or would you rather I have like a weekly update schedule? leave your thoughts in the comments!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first 1000 words are basically exposition. yay

The six children are woken up precisely at 9:00am, by the gentle alarm of their bedside clocks. Magnus couldn’t bring himself to install anything harsher, or earlier, especially after all the children have been through recently. 

He serves them all breakfast at the table: peanut butter and banana toast and fresh berries. Then he tells them _we’re going to do some running._

He’s greeted with a variety of expressions, everything from confusion to sullen anger, but no one objects. They stay in their uniforms and Magnus marches the little line of children to the loft’s staircase, where he sets the kids loose. Down and up all of the building’s flights, he tells them. At their own pace. It’s not a competition. No fighting. 

He really should’ve known better. The thundering of tiny feet on an echoing staircase is only drowned out by the shouting. 

“You’re cheating.”  
“Don’t touch me.”  
“Get out of my _way._ ” 

Magnus double checks the soundproofing, just to be safe. He may own the building, but he doesn’t need to add tenant complaints to his to-do list. No thank you. 

Half an hour later, the kids are still bursting, so Magnus sends them down again. This time he tells them _hands clasped together. No using your arms for running or pushing, Diego._

He gets a glare for that one. 

It works, just like he hoped it might. By the time the children greet him again at the top, they’re sweaty and just the right amount of exhausted. He leads them upstairs for a TV break and a snack, and they go from there. 

Very quickly Magnus understands that the children have absolutely no sense of introception. It’s a common trait for trauma victims, particularly children with previously rigid schedules or neglectful guardians. Check and check. They don’t know when they’re hungry. They don’t complain or rub their eyes when they’re tired. They don’t even take themselves to the bathroom without reminder. They don’t have any grasp on their bodies’ signals whatsoever, reminiscent of much younger children. 

So Magnus starts giving them small choices. 

Do you want to watch television while you eat a snack, or would you like to read a book while you eat?

Do you want grapes, or blueberries?

Would you like to go for another run, or would you prefer to do some jumping jacks here?

At first they all huddle together, wary and distrustful, and pick the same choices as each other if they answer at all. 

By day two, Magnus starts offering slightly more varied options. Do you want to go for a run, or would you rather do a puzzle? Would you like to eat a snack, or stay here without one? 

On the third day, they don’t all pick the exact same thing. By the fourth, he thinks they’re starting to catch on. 

–

Vanya drifts in and out of sleep.

Magnus watches her whenever he can take his eyes off of the others, and Catarina visits whenever she’s not at the hospital. She sleeps, and sometimes she cries, or wakes up long enough to plead for her pills or babble incomprehensibly before she falls asleep again. 

Magnus stays with her whenever she wakes and hushes her, murmuring soothing words about how she’s safe now, everything is okay. He tells her over and over that he doesn’t know anything about her pills, and he doesn’t. He wishes that he did, for the way that she seems so desperate for them. 

At least so that he could know what he’s up against. 

By the end of the second evening, Vanya can sit up long enough to have some soup and water, and Cat takes her IV out. That seems to calm her slightly. Magnus understands. 

She begins talking more and more frequently, in snatches of nonsense and story. It’s not long before he can start to piece together some haunting narratives. 

She paints a picture of powers that she’s always known she has. Of a little girl who kills her nannies (when she pauses here, to cry and remind Magnus that she _didn’t mean to,_ that she’s _really really sorry,_ he has to clear his throat and excuse himself for a few minutes). 

She talks of a father who locks her away. Who convinces her that her power is evil. She tells a story of danger; her own and the world’s. Of a father who drugs her and scares her and prohibits her from using her powers at all outside of rigid training. She talks about her siblings, who don’t even know what her power is, only that she’s dangerous. That she’s not one of them. 

She talks about forgiveness and fear and an utter lack of control, but most of all, she talks about pure, absolute isolation. 

Magnus doesn’t know what to do with that. He never has. 

He has to excuse himself again and again, for fear that she’ll see his fury and think that it’s directed at her. Five catches him once, on the way out of the room, cat eyes alight and fists clenched. Instead of responding with fear the boy scoffs and suggests with saccharine sarcasm that Magnus should go for a run. 

Magnus breaths in, breaths out, reigns in his magic, and agrees. 

They all run together. 

He won’t pretend that he doesn’t hate it, but it does feel like progress. 

–

The fourth day, for all of its progress, unfortunately happens to be the day before Reginal Hargreeves funeral. 

It’s also the day that Vanya decides that she’s ready to see her siblings. 

He deals with that first. 

“Are you sure, sweetling?” He’s heard enough to fear that this might be a messy reunion. 

Vanya nods. “I need to know that they’re okay. You didn’t-- you didn’t tell them what happened, did you? They don’t think that it was me?”

“No, they don’t. I’ve told them that it was an accident. I’m not sure that they’re ready to hear more just yet in any case.” 

Vayna nods. She opens and closes her palms, and a rush of power presses against the edges of Magnus’s magic. It’s becoming exhausting to contain her. He’ll have to teach her how to do it herself, just like he learned. Soon. 

“I need to tell you something first, Vanya, if that’s okay with you.”

He waits for her nod. Her power moves and jitters, like it’s nervous. Magnus twists a ring around his finger. 

“I want you to know that none of what happened was your fault. I told your brothers and sister that it was an accident, and that’s the truth.”

Vanya ducks her head. “I’m a murderer,” she whispers. 

“No,” Magnus says firmly, “you’re not. You’re a child. With powers that a grown woman would struggle to contain.”

“You don’t understand.” Vanya wipes a tear from her eye, lips set in a pout. “You don’t understand what it’s like so you don’t get to say anything like that. You don’t understand!”

Magnus sighs. “No,” he says, reluctantly.“I guess that I don’t.” 

It’s not the first time that he’s lied to a child, but it still sticks something sharp up through his chest to make the words come out. He could blame it on the exhaustion seeping into his bones. He could certainly blame it on the fire messages from the Downworld that won’t stop coming, and the fear that he can sense throughout the city, and the words of those under his jurisdiction: _you’re our only hope, Magnus._

There’s a voice in his head that says that Valentine’s coming, don’t get too comfortable in this life. He tells himself that that’s the only reason that he doesn’t want to share. He almost believes it. 

“So,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go see your siblings, shall we?” 

– 

They aren’t happy to see her. 

It’s not that they’re hostile, exactly, but the minute that Vanya steps out into the living room, something in the air changes. The children are alert. They pull their hands behind their backs, a soldier’s stance, as if waiting for Vanya to make the first strike. 

“Hi,” she mumbles, looking at her feet. 

Ben steps toward her, breaking the line. “I’m glad you’re okay, Seven.” He doesn’t go any further. 

Number One tilts his chin up. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says. It comes out half question, and One fidgets in place. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You don’t belong here,” Diego echoes. 

There’s a long moment of silence, where Magnus struggles against the waves of the child’s grief. Then Vanya bites her lip. 

“I just wanted to make sure that you’re all okay,” she says. 

“Where were you?” Ben asks. “Did you get knocked down by the explosion?”

“Did you see anything?” Diego asks intently, eyes suddenly sharp. “Did you see the bad guys?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Number One repeats. “You need to go, Number Seven.”

“That’s enough,” Magnus cuts in. He tries to walk the line between firm and gentle, but he knows that it comes out as frustration. “Vanya isn’t going anywhere, and she’s not required to answer any of your questions right now. We’re going to have lunch and then there’s something that we need to talk about. All of us.”

It takes some coaxing, but eventually Vanya agrees to sit at the table, and Luther does too, although he doesn’t take his eyes off of her once during the meal. Diego wolfs down his meal and then kicks his chair back with a loud clatter, huffing as it cracks against the wood. 

“This is stupid,” he says. “I’m going to my room.”

“Wait, Diego--” Magnus says, but then he’s ducking. A fire message whizzes past his face and he reaches out blindly to catch it, unraveling it to read under the table. 

It’s another message from a neighboring High Warlock. It’s hard to interpret between the cursing, but Magnus gets the gist of it. People are angry. Mostly with him. Big surprise. 

When he finally remembers what he was saying and looks back up, Diego is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it looks like the consensus so far is for my current random updating style? speak now and all that
> 
> new vote: should I add some teasers for upcoming chapters in the next update's notes? Nothing spoilery or too dramatic, just some little clues? lemmee know in the comments!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for any of y'all using a screen reader to read this. My dashes are out of control.

The funeral takes place on a frigid Wednesday afternoon. 

All of the snow is frozen, so that the world is a giant ice rink that crunches when you step through it. The sun is bright and glaring, so strong that it hurts your eyes if you don’t shield them. 

None of them go. 

Instead, they watch it from inside on Magnus’s TV. The funeral is packed with people-- their father was famous, after all. With a lot of rich friends. 

Magnus offered to take them, but when they said they didn’t want to go he didn’t push. He said they could have their own funeral some time, if they wanted to. 

Klaus doesn’t think that he wants to. 

Magnus has this way of looking at you, so that you’re really _seen._ Not like an experiment or a burden or some random kid. Like the kid that you are inside. 

It’s scary, and Klaus could do without it, if he were being honest. But it also feels good. In his experience, good things are usually scary, and vice versa. He can handle it being scary because it’s not scary like the ghosts, and that’s all that matters. It’s not scary like Father, either, though Klaus doesn’t like to think about him.

Good riddance, if you ask him. 

Although being dead might just stick Klaus with Father forever, and he would be the only one who has to deal with him. That would really, really suck. 

So instead of thinking about that, Klaus does scary things that also feel good, because at least then it’s his choice, right? And he decides that he likes Magnus, even though he’s also scary. 

He just doesn’t really know what to do about it, yet. 

Except, as the days go by, that feeling comes less and less often, anyways. 

Magnus is distracted. He acts like they don’t see the constant phone calls, the messages coming out of nowhere that he reads with a frown, and the way that he whispers to that kind nurse whenever she comes over. The way that he’s sleeping less and less. But Klaus does see it. They all do. 

He just doesn’t really know what to do about that, either. 

Father taught them lots of things. But nothing useful. 

–

“So,” Magnus announces. “I’d like to talk about your powers.”

They all instantly stiffen; Klaus does too. It sends a ripple through their little group. Klaus doesn’t miss the way that Luther shoots a guilty glance at the lamp he broke, either. It’s fixed now, even though it was shattered into a million pieces, but they all still remember. 

“I still don’t know what most of your powers are,” Magnus explains. “I’d like to get a sense of them, now that you’ve been here for a while. For example, Lu- Number One, I’ve heard that yours has to do with your strength.”

Luther falters. “You can just watch the interviews.”

It’s surprising-- usually Luther always wants to show off. 

Magnus seems surprised, too. “I could, but I’d like to hear about it from you directly. I have a feeling that your narratives have been warped enough already.”

He doesn’t know what that means, and probably Luther doesn’t either. But he straightens. “It’s uh, super strength, sir. I could show you if you want.” 

“No, that’s okay,” Magnus answers quickly. “And you don’t have to call me sir, Number One. Magnus is fine. Anyone else want to share about their power?” 

The room goes dead silent. Except for the ghosts, but only Klaus knows about those. To everyone else it’s crickets. Diego looks like he’s about to punch someone, maybe. Klaus inches away from him. 

“We’re not telling you anything,” Diego spits, at the same time that Allison says, “mine is invisibility.”

Magnus blinks. “Invisibility?”

“Yeah, and mine is flame-throwing!” Klaus pipes up. That sounds like a lot more fun than ghosts. 

“Mine is shape-shifting,” Vanya says. She’s sitting in the corner on one of Magnus’s couches, away from the group. She smiles a little to herself. Everyone else gapes. They’re playing a game, but for all they know, that could actually be Vanya’s power. 

“No it’s not,” Luther says, with his I’m-more-important-than-everyone-else authority. 

Vanya looks up at him. “How would you know?” she asks. 

Luther pales a little, and Klaus sends a long-distance fist bump to Vanya. But she doesn’t see it. 

Magnus sighs. “Look,” he says, “I know that you’re not likely to believe me, since I wouldn’t have believed me at your age, either. But I’m not asking you about your powers to use them for anything. I’m asking for your safety. If I’m going to find a more permanent home for you, then we need to know what the caregivers will have to--”

“You’re going to send us to live with some random non-powered adults?” Allison demands. “That’s not fair.” 

Magnus sighs again. He pinches his nose between his thumb and index finger, which in Klaus’s experience is bad news. “Hopefully not,” he says. “I’d like to find a place for you with other adults with powers, but…” he trails off, then continues uncertainly, “it’s just not a great time.”

“We don’t even know what _your_ powers are,” Klaus points out. Because Magnus mentions it a lot but they’ve never really seen it for themselves. Except for the super cool letters that keep appearing out of nowhere. And the story on the bedroom wall. And the one time that Five tried to _poof_ his way out of the building, and fell onto his butt. 

Whatever Magnus’s power is, it has to be cool. 

“Yeah,” Allison agrees. “You’re being a hypocrite!” 

Magnus stares at them for a long moment. A ghost behind them snickers. Magnus has a lot of ghosts in his house. 

“Okay,” he relents. “I suppose that you’ll ideally end up living with warlocks anyways, so you’ll find out eventually. Sit down, everyone. This is a long explanation.” 

-

Magnus tells them a bizarre story. One about angels and demons and werewolves and vampires. It sounds totally crazy, but Klaus believes it. It would explain why so many of the ghosts in Magnus’s house look so weird, with horns and scales and claws and skin in funny colours. He thought he might have been imaging that.

“-and so,” Magnus finishes, “I don’t exactly have powers, like you do. I have magic.”

“That’s crap,” Diego huffs. “Prove it. Show us.”

“We don’t demand that from each other in this house,” Magnus chastises, very sternly. Diego turns red but crosses his arms, doing his best to look angry. Diego is always angry. It seems tiring. 

“It’s true,” Five says. He looks _way_ too intrigued. “It explains a lot of stuff.”

Ben looks down at his stomach. “So what are we?” he asks. That makes everyone go quiet again.

“I’m not sure,” Magnus answers after a moment. He looks really sad. “Knowing about your powers would help me figure that out.”

“Your friend said that-” everyone turns to look at Vanya, and she ducks her head back down. “That we aren’t human.” 

“She meant _normal,_ not human,” Magnus says. “Just because of your powers. She meant that the Downworld would take care of you.” 

“But it sounds like they won’t,” Luther speaks up. “You keep saying that it’s not a good time.”

That makes Magnus really pause. He raises a hand and waffles it uncertainly, then brings it up to play with the jewelry on his ear. “That’s not something that you kids have to worry about.” 

“It is if we’re homeless,” Allison argues. Magnus shakes his head. 

“That won’t happen. You’ll stay with me until we find somewhere else.”

“But your job sounds important,” Luther objects. “Don’t you need to go back to it?” 

If Luther weren’t so mean, Klaus would elbow him for that. Instead, he opens his mouth to change the subject but Five beats him to it. 

“Why would new people need to know about our powers to take care of us if you don’t?” 

“Because,” Magnus explains, “my magic is… such that I can handle unforeseen obstacles. Not everyone can.”

“So you’re super powerful?” Klaus asks. Magnus smiles a little, and something lights up in Klaus’s chest. 

“I suppose you could say that, yes.” 

“Could you show everyone what you showed me before? But maybe with different animals this time? Please?” 

Klaus would really rather keep that as a special secret for himself, but he also really needs to change the subject. He doesn’t want to tell Magnus about the ghosts, or watch Diego throw a tantrum if he’s asked to talk about his powers. He also really, really doesn’t want to talk about living somewhere else. 

Not that he thinks that they’ll get to stay with Magnus-- Magnus already said that they can’t. But that doesn’t mean they have to talk about it. Besides, maybe if Magnus has enough fun with them, he’ll change his mind, right? 

Magnus’s smile widens. “Sure.” He turns to all of Klaus’s siblings. “Why don’t I show you something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got about a hundred chapters coming if this keeps up, lol. But feel free to keep requesting ideas! Most of them are making their way into the story. 
> 
> As promised: jingle bells, accusations, ladybugs and chickpeas, wet sheets, truths revealed, valentines, and a much beloved cabbage.


	9. Chapter 9

Things move along fairly normally after that. 

The kids have a lot of questions about Magnus’s powers. He’s updated the schedule now to include: would you like to read a book, or do you want to ask me some questions? It’s a tad overwhelming-- there’s an infinite amount of _no Klaus, you can’t go see a vampire_ and _yes Five, there are in fact mermaids, but we call them Sirens, sorry I didn’t know that you knew what Sirens were, no I can’t teleport quite like you can, no I won’t show you now, please go on and play._ But he’s also relieved for them to know. It softens the balance just a little bit between this life and his other one. 

Not by enough, but every bit counts. 

He starts leaving the loft more often. He feels comfortable leaving the children with Catarina now that they know about her. They go to her place, which is a nice change of scenery for them, and he wards her house just in case. They’re a handful but she can handle them. Besides, it’s not purely selfless for her to babysit, either; she knows that Magnus is needed.

People have started evacuations. The spiral labyrinth can take children and the vulnerable, but there’s few places in the world to escape a man like Valentine. 

Typically, there’s no possible outcome which would see Magnus leaving his home. As it stands he may not have a choice. 

He should send the children to the care of another warlock. For some reason he doesn’t. 

He thinks of Klaus’s tear-tracked cheeks, and Diego’s explosive anger, and the guilt that seems to follow Luther like a cloud. He thinks of Ben’s mournful eyes and Three's fierce stubborness and Five’s feigned callousness and Vanya’s quiet admission of murder. 

He also thinks of the Shadowhunters, and how they had reacted the first time that the news of the Umbrella Academy broke. The greed in their eyes. He knows what they do to children. Surely the little gang would already be soldiers for another general by now, if anyone could find them. 

Magnus thinks of all of that, and then he doesn’t move their care. 

He will. He _will,_ just not now. Not yet. 

– 

The children need clothes. 

They need to be able to leave the house, and the uniforms are not very inconspicuous. Magnus had magicked in some plain clothes alternatives when the kids moved in but so far, despite him making his permission very clear, no one has touched them. 

Perhaps if they’re given the option to select their own, they’ll wear them. 

So, as follows the cliché that his life has become, Magus decides on a shopping trip. 

He enlists Cat, and uses a trusted personal connection to rent out a department store. Another phone call later and he’s got the entirety of the ex-Umbrella Academy squashed into a van with tinted windows.

Not his most elegant solution, perhaps, but it’ll do. 

“Can I buy jeans?” Number Three asks, for what Magnus is pretty sure is the sixth time. He nods down at her. 

“You can get whatever you’d like, within reason,” he tells her again. She turns her head to stare out the window with determined seriousness, but Magnus catches just the tiniest crack of a smile break over her features. It’s the first time that he’s ever seen her smile, when she’s not trying to get what she wants or feign politeness. 

“I was thinking that you girls could go with Catarina,” he continues, “and the boys could come with me. Just to make the afternoon more… manageable.” 

All of the other kids are sullen and silent. Even Klaus, typically the more effervescent of them, sits with his head down and arms crossed, staring into his lap. 

At his words, Number Three whips her head back. “Why does she have to come with me?” 

Magnus shrugs. “Mundanes separate clothing by boys and girls. I thought it would be easier that way.” 

“I don’t want her anywhere near me.”

Thankful for the hired driver, Magnus takes a moment to turn to the girl. “Number Three… I know that you haven’t had the closest relationship with your sister, but she is your sister, and for better or worse you will live together until you’re grown up. Perhaps you should give her a chance.”

He is the last person to suggest that you must give family a chance simply because they’re family. But the point stands; Number Three and Vanya will inevitably have a childhood’s worth of time together. Because Magnus will not see these children split up. 

“Luther says that she’s dangerous.” 

Luther catches his name and leans forward from one of the seats behind them. He wanted to sit in the front, but Diego had threatened an assault at the mere suggestion, so Magnus had put them both in the same row, right next to each other in the middle. He also put a wall of magic in between them, because he couldn’t deal with another headache today. 

Vanya is with Klaus and Ben in the very back, where hopefully she can’t hear their conversation. He’s already expending half of his focus and energy to keep her powers-- and those unknown powers of her siblings-- at bay in a moving vehicle on a public street. If she gets emotional then Magnus won’t make it through the car ride, let alone shopping, without a nap to recharge. 

“She is dangerous,” Luther says. “She shouldn’t be in a place with civilians, sir.” 

“I have that covered,” Magnus reminds him. “She’ll be just fine.”

“But father says--” Luther pauses as Diego shoves against the barricade between them, yelling something about being a kiss-up. “Father says that she’s a threat. That she could hurt a lot of people.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Magnus repeats. It’s a fine line, with Luther. The child can be so terrible to his siblings, so domineering, but he’s so skittish and eager to please with adults. Magnus tries to balance the scales between discipline and softness, but it doesn’t always land in the way that he intends. “Diego, please don’t drain my magic unnecessarily.” 

Diego sulks, slamming on the barrier one more time for good measure. 

“So, Number Three, if I can promise you that everything will be just fine, are you willing to shop with your sister?” 

Number Three bites the inside of her cheek, considering. It occurs to Magnus that he still doesn’t know her chosen name. “I guess. If I can buy jeans.” 

“You can buy jeans. And who knows, maybe you and Vanya will get some sister bonding time in.”

He doesn’t get a response to that. 

– 

Cat meets them at the department store. She’s wearing a stunning purple dress, hair down around her shoulders, and at least three of the children stop to gawk at her for a second. She is an impressive sight, when she wants to be. 

(He’d gotten a few looks this morning, too. Since it’s meant to be a casual outing, Magnus had gone for something a little more creative. Flowing trousers, a button up, and an army jacket are tied together with thick eyeliner and a little colour in his hair. The children don’t seem to be used to him, quite yet. He figures it’s a good example for the future). 

“You look lovely, Cat,” he tells her as he pecks her on the cheek. She looks him up and down.

“You’re not bad yourself. You girls ready?”

“Have fun,” Magnus tells them, and Cat shepherds them off, Number Three bounding ahead and Vanya trailing behind, eyes wide. 

“Alright gentleman, shall we see what we can find?” 

Ben shrugs, and Diego kicks at the nearest clothing rack, hands in his pockets. Luther looks vaguely flabbergasted, mapping out the space with thinly veiled awe and confusion. Five just rolls his eyes and wanders on down the aisle, documenting everything that he sees in a tiny notebook. 

Klaus trails after him, sullen. 

“Okay, I suppose that we’re going this way.” 

They head to the shoe section first. The kids need winter boots. 

They try them on with clinical detachment, standing to test their weight and rocking in and out of fighting stances. Five tests a jump, then frowns.

“These shoes don’t make any sense.”

“Why not, Five? And to be clear, you can jump within the store, but not out of it, alright?”

Five rolls his eyes in response, waving a dismissive hand. “They’re too big. How can we move in these?” 

“Well, you won’t need to fight in them. They’re meant for walking in the snow.” 

“But father says that we need to be prepared to fight all the time,” Luther chimes in.

“Father’s dead,” Diego snaps. It’s first time that he’s spoken since the car ride over. “So shut up about him and his stupid opinions.”

“Don’t say that!”

“Why not, it’s true? Someone killed him, so he’s dead. Unless that’s not how it works, _Number One._ ”

“I’m the leader and I say that we listen to dad anyways.”

“Screw you!” Diego shouts. “Dad only made you the leader because you’re a suck-up, and now dad’s gone anyways so you aren’t the leader anymore. You can’t tell anyone what to do.”

Diego’s boot goes flying with surprising accuracy toward Luther’s face, and Luther swipes it out of the air. “What are you doing? Don’t use your power in here, Two!”

“For the last time, don’t tell me what to do!” 

Magnus catches the glint of the knife before he sees it and reacts on instinct, reaching out to block it midair with his magic. It clatters to the ground near Klaus’s feet, who stares at it with wide eyes, one boot on, the other foot in only a sock. 

“This is childish,” Five objects, and jumps again, landing a few feet away. “These boots are fine.”

“Hold it, everyone.” Magnus raises a hand. With the other, he walks over to grab the knife off of the ground. It’s a butter knife from the loft, sharpened to a thin point. “Diego, give me the rest of these.” 

Diego crosses his arms. 

“Give me the rest of your knives, now.” 

Diego reaches in his pocket and grabs a couple, then drops them on the ground in front of him with a clatter. There’s two more in his socks, and one somewhere behind his shoulder. All of them land in the pile. Magus takes them. 

“I don’t know what you were thinking,” he says, “but attacking your brother like that was not acceptable. I know that you’re angry but perhaps you should take a break to cool off.” 

“You’re not our father,” Diego says. “You can’t tell me what to do either!”

Magnus’s head is pounding. He tries to keep his voice level. “I am your guardian right now, Diego, and I’m just trying to keep you and your siblings safe. Don’t--”

“You keep saying that,” Diego interrupts, “but you still haven’t caught the bad guys who wrecked our house. You haven’t done anything! Except for some stupid magic tricks and dressing like a dumb girl.” 

“I don’t--” Magnus pauses for breath. “Sit down and cool off, Diego.”

“Fine.” Diego kicks at a boot this time, sending it flying, and then marches into the nearby change room with a scowl. 

– 

The next hour goes by remarkably smoothly, considering. Diego returns after a few minutes and picks out some boots in silence, handing them off to Magnus without looking him in the eye. 

They head for pants, next, and some humour finally breaks the tension when Magnus realizes that none of the children have ever worn jeans before. They’re all absolutely baffled. 

“Regular kids wear these?” Klaus asks, wrinkling his nose down at them. He’s hardly spoken since Diego and Luther’s fight, but the act of trying things on appears to be bringing some life back to him. “They’re awful. And boring.” He peels the edge of the waistband away from his skin and pulls it out, grimacing. 

“I think they’re okay,” Ben says. “Maybe a little uncomfortable.” He wiggles his hips like a caterpillar. Magnus bites his lip on a smile. 

“They’re thick,” Luther chimes in. “Maybe that’s good protection from knives--” he shoots a look at Diego-- “and other stuff.” 

“Diego, what do you think?” He wants to ensure that the boy still feels included, even after his outburst. Diego shrugs. “They’re fine,” he says. 

“Great,” Magnus says. “The universality of denim to the rescue.” 

Shirts are next, and the children shuffle over in their new jeans. Magnus would prefer to simply let them loose in the kids section to choose, but the looks on their faces suggest that that hardly seems viable, and anyways, they’re fading fast. This is too much stimulation for all of them. 

So Magnus walks them through it slowly, pointing out some suitable possibilities and explaining the typical associations with each type of item. When he notes that button up shirts are often associated with formality and authority, Luther picks two. Diego and Five both grab plain gray t-shirts, and Diego adds a faux-leather jacket to the pile, which, despite what’s certainly an intention to look tough, only makes him look adorable. 

Ben grabs a few hoodies, citing perpetual coldness, and throws a green sweater at Klaus. Klaus hasn’t picked anything out for himself yet, however, and Magnus goes over to crouch beside him. 

“Are you having a hard time picking things?” he asks. 

Klaus shrugs. “Not really. I just don’t like anything here.” 

“Oh? And what would you like?” 

Klaus’s lips press together and he shakes his head, but Magnus doesn’t miss the way that his gaze strays out over Magnus’s shoulder. He turns, and the only thing in Klaus’s eye line is the edge of the women’s department, where Number Three is running past with an armful of denim and pink. 

The meaning dawns on him pretty quickly. “Oh. Would you rather be shopping with your sisters?”

Klaus bites his lip, tugging on the bottom of his shirt as he flickers his gaze back up. It’s a habit of his; one that has gradually stretched his shirt out over his thin frame, making it hang more like a short dress or nightgown. It’s a habit that makes much more sense now. 

“Diego says that you dress like a girl,” Klaus hedges, uncertainly. His eyes are wet.“He says that you shouldn’t look like that.” 

“Diego has learned some things from your father that aren’t true, little goose. You can wear whatever you’d like.” 

Klaus glances over at Ben, who gives him a tiny thumbs up. “Maybe I’ll just _look_ with the girls. Would that be that okay? You can pick some plain shirts for me here like Diego got.”

“Sure,” Magnus says. This time, he does ruffle Klaus’s hair. Klaus smiles, bottom lip still trembling a little. 

–

“I think Vanya would prefer to shop with the boys,” Cat says, as soon as they reach each other. Vanya’s eyes are firmly on the floor. 

Magnus smiles. “We’ll be trading children then,” he says, and nudges Klaus forward in explanation. “Welcome, Vanya.”

“Klaus! Do you think that I can pull off a denim skirt?” Number Three shouts from the change room. 

The afternoon fall into place, after that. 

– 

They spend a little more time in their respective departments, and Magnus fills Vanya’s hands with t-shirts and hoodies and baggier jeans. Soon, however, rumbling stomachs and waning energy signal that it’s time to head home. 

“Alright kids, let’s grab what we have and head home for dinner, shall we?” 

Five’s head snaps up from his notebook. “Finally.” 

There’s some shuffling in the change room, and then Vanya pops out. “May I wear these home?” she asks. Magnus nods.

“Of course. My card is on file so you don’t even have to take them off to pay.”

Ben pops out of the change room shrouded in a black hoodie that’s at least three sizes too large. Luther trails after him in a gray dress shirt, jeans clutched in his hands. 

“Thank you, Magnus,” Luther says politely. 

Magnus winks at him. “You’re welcome, bumblebee. Now, where’s your brother wandered off to?” 

“He wasn’t in the change room,” Ben says, and Magnus frowns. 

“Oh? Then where--” A piercing alarm cuts Magnus off, screeching through the entire department store. An automated voice comes on over the loud speaker. 

_Emergency exit in use. Please exit single file. Emergency exit in use. Please keep calm and leave the building quickly. Emergency exit in use._

Cat comes rushing over with Klaus and Three at her heels as Magnus sends his magic out, searching 360 degrees throughout the building for any trace of Diego. 

There’s nothing. 

Diego is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun duuunn


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some of y'all get something you've been asking for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yehaw. sorry for the wait, folks, this week was insanely busy. have a longer chapter to make up for it :)

Magnus gathers the children as quickly and efficiently as he can, One Three Four Five Six Seven. Only Two missing. Only Diego.

He double and triple checks the store but there’s no sign of the boy. How could he have lost him? How could he have scolded a child so fresh out of a loss like that, and then left him alone? _What has he done?_

But there’s no time for that. 

He herds the children into a group and tells them to hold hands, to clear their minds. He wants to give them a little more warning this time. They’re fearful but immediately follow the instructions, and Magnus portals them back to his loft in one large group. Only Five and Luther land gracefully, the others toppling over but quickly righting themselves and standing back at attention, looking vaguely dizzy. Cat follows a moment after through her own portal. 

“You’ll all need to stay here while I search for him,” Magnus instructs. 

“Where did he go?” Ben asks. 

“I’m not sure, my dear, but I’ll find him, don’t you worry. You can stay here with Catarina.” 

“I want to help look,” Number Three says. Luther nods.

“We should all help. We can fan out, cover more ground.” 

Magnus opens his mouth to protest but Cat tugs on his sleeves and he looks to her. “I don’t know about the children, but I should help, Magnus,” she says. “We can work much more quickly with the two of us.” 

“I don’t have a clue where he would have gone,” Magnus whispers back. Cat is right-- the two of them make an excellent team when it comes to finding people-- but right now he needs a moment of reassurance. The past few days are rapidly catching up with him. 

Cat always knows. She winks at him. “He’s an angsty young boy. Remember when we tracked those Shadowhunters spies through that bog? This’ll be easy, trust me.” 

Magnus nods resolutely. “Okay,” he tells the group, “Cat will come with me. But I need you children to stay here. In case Diego comes back.” 

“I’ll stay,” Five offers. “By myself. Everyone else can go.” 

Magnus squints at him. 

“It should be me,” Five adds. “I can portal to you if he comes, to tell you that he’s back.”

“We have cellphones for that, pumpkin.”

Five shrugs. 

“Alright,” Magnus concedes. He makes a split second decision, examining the worried and determined faces of the group in front of him. These are kids who are used to missions. They’re kids who’ve had far too little power in their lives. They need to be given the chance to help. “You can stay behind, Five, and the rest of you can come help search. _If_ you follow my orders to the letter. We can’t afford to have two children missing.”

They nod, backs ramrod straight. Magnus turns to Five.

“But it’s not legal for you to be here alone. You’ll need a chaperone. I’ll-- I’ll call Mr. Furt, from next door. He owes me a favour. 

Magnus had charmed one particularly large reptile for the man at one point, if memory serves. 

“Who cares if it’s not legal?” Five argues. “Is it legal for you to have us here? Do you have a foster license?” 

Despite not understanding the use value of a cell phone, it’s clear that Five’s been on the internet. 

“Downworlders have different laws than mundane laws. I’m following those.” 

“But mundanes don’t like that. They’ll come get us, right?” 

“We don’t have time for this discussion right now,” Magnus declares. They don’t. Light is waning, and it’s freezing outside. It’s an important discussion-- and an important problem, one that Magnus has been putting off solving-- but it’ll have to wait. “I’ll call Mr. Furt.”

–

Fifteen minutes later, Magnus and the hoard of jeans-and-brand-new-winter jacket clad children are shivering as they carve a path through the centre of downtown, near the department store. It’s nearly dark and although Magnus can see just fine with his cat eyes, he knows that Diego can’t. 

Every minute that passes is one more where Diego could be lost, or taken, or recognized. 

“Do you have any idea where he might go?” Magnus asks Ben, who’s hardly spoken a word. Ben considers. 

“I think he’ll be looking for the person who destroyed our house,” he says. 

Magnus has considered it. Cat is searching the property where the Umbrella Academy used to stand as they speak, but so far there’s no word from her. He can’t imagine where else a child might go when searching for someone like that, with zero leads and only their own two feet. 

“Anywhere else that he might have gone?”

“Two likes to be alone when he’s sad,” Ben says. “Maybe he’s just hiding away. Maybe he’ll come back.”

“Maybe,” Magnus answers. “I certainly hope so.”

Half an hour later and they’re running out of options. Cat turned up nothing at the old house, or in the surrounding area. Mr. Furt has nothing to report. There’s no sign of anyone within 3 square blocks of the department store. 

He’ll have to track him. 

Pulling out the knife that Magnus has stashed in his pocket, he checks to ensure that he’s not being watched, and then discretely removes his glamour and lights the object up with blue. A few focused seconds pass with his breath held tight in his chest. Then he feels the pull. 

Diego’s alright. And he’s close. 

Magnus sends a grateful smile to Vanya that she’s keeping her powers in check enough for him to focus on the task, and then sends a mental apology to Diego. Being tracked with magic is highly uncomfortable. Magnus can feel the spike of paranoia shoot through their connection; Diego has the sense that he’s being watched. 

It won’t be for long, however. 

“This way,” Magnus says, ushering the kids further up the street. Luther is at the back of the group, looking left and right, hand positioned over his eyes like he’s acting out searching. At Magnus’s words he pauses and then nods, picking up the pace and encouraging everyone else to do the same. 

A few blocks down the glow begins to increase enough that Magnus is forced to keep the knife hidden in his jacket. Another couple of minutes later and that’s no longer enough; a faint blue glow can be seen emitting from his stomach, like a glow stick. Magnus’s spirits start to lift. The kids can feel it too. They’re close. 

By now, however, they’re in the outskirts of the downtown core. The landscape is changing-- stores turn to apartment complexes and then to warehouses, covered in grafitti and smelling of piss. This area is familiar, but not one that Magnus enters readily with children. He considers sending them home but one look at their faces changes his mind. They may not be a regular family, but they’ll still fight for their brother. 

“Stay close,” he instructs. 

Something raises the hair on the back of Magnus’s neck. He pauses abruptly, rolling into a defensive position that has the children mirroring him. Something is wrong. 

There’s a click off to the right, in a small alley between two warehouses. Magnus raises his hands to his waist. 

“Show yourself, Shadowhunter.” 

There’s a second of silence, and then a figure emerges out of the darkness. A stele glints from one pocket; on the other side, a quiver hangs, full and at the ready. Magnus makes a low noise in the back of his throat on an exhale and steps in front of the children. 

“Where’s the boy?”

“Who are you?” The man demands. His hazel eyes take Magnus in with scrutiny. “What are you doing here?” 

“Where’s the child? I tracked him here.” 

“I’ve got him safe,” the Shadowhunter responds. “You’re Magnus Bane, aren’t you? I’ve seen your photos in our records.”

“I’m sure that you have,” Magnus replies. “And who, may I inquire, am I speaking with?”

Thick dark eyebrows pull down together. “Alexa- Alec. Lightwood. From the New York institute.”

A Lightwood. Wonderful. Just Magnus’s luck. He steps even further in front of the children, hoping to keep them obscured and out of the Shadowhunters’ mind for the time being.

“Well Alexander from the New York institute, I believe that I asked you a question. Where’s the boy? He’s my ward, and I’d like to take him home.”

The man frowns. “He’s your ward? We have no notice of that.”

“I didn’t give any,” Magnus responds icily. “I’m not required to by the Accords or any law, am I?”

“Technically no,” Alec answers, tilting his head to one side in consideration. “But how can I know that you’re genuine? That the boy is with you? And--” he adds, eyeing the others for the first time, “that they are meant to be with you?”

At this point, Luther speaks up. “We’re with Magnus, sir,” he says smoothly. “Please direct us to our brother.”

Alec squints. “Your brother? There’s an awful lot of you. Are you all siblings?”

“That’s enough,” Magnus interrupts. The more questions they answer, the greater chance that the Shadowhunter has of recognizing them. Magnus notices with relief that his night-rune isn’t activated. That might buy them some time. 

“Are you a Shadowhunter?” Klaus asks. Magnus sighs. 

To his surprise, however, the man smiles. “Yes,” he answers. As Klaus takes a step forward, Alec crouches down a little, shifting his weight just slightly onto his heels to be closer to their height. “I am a Shadowhunter. What are you?” 

“They’re with me,” Magnus repeats, speaking over Klaus. He steps in front of him once again, until he and the Shadowhunter are face to face. Alec straightens. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, and then Alec clears his throat. 

“The boy that you’re looking for is right behind me, with my brother Jace and my sister Isabelle. We finished a mission further west and were on our way back to the Institute when we found him here. He’s fine. A little scared, but fine.” 

“Thank you,” Magnus responds curtly. “I’ll go check for myself.”

“I can wait here with these guys, if you’d like?” Alec offers. Magnus shakes his head. 

“I’ll notify my friend Catarina. She’ll be here shortly.”

He writes her a quick fire message: _Diego here. Lightwoods, too,_ and ignores the incredulous “Catarina _Loss?_ ” that Alec mutters into his shoes. 

She appears a moment later. “I’ll watch the kids,” she says, eyes on the Shadowhunter. “Go get him.”

Magnus nods and walks further into the alley, shuffling past the Shadowhunter who dodges quickly out of his way, squeezing his large frame to one wall. Magnus has just enough time for it to occur to him that this could be a trap before he sees Diego, sitting in a small opening in between the buildings with two attractive young Shadowhunters. 

One is clearly a Lightwood, all brown hair and bright eyes, but the other doesn’t look related. Magnus can’t fathom the idea that Maryse Lightwood would ever adopt a child, but anything is possible, he supposes. 

“Diego,” he calls. The child immediately turns to him. “Are you alright?” 

Diego ducks his head and nods. He appears to be unharmed; Magnus’s overwhelming relief at finding him drowns out any other doubts. 

“He hasn’t spoken a word to us,” the woman tells him. She flips her hair over her shoulder and smiles. “Isabelle Lightwood. You’re Magnus Bane, yes?”

Magnus nods and takes her offered hand. “Yes. Your brother informed me that you would both be here with my ward.”

“Jace,” the other boy chimes in, and offers his hands too. Magnus shakes it. This will go more smoothly if he plays nice.

“Lovely to meet you, I’m sure,” he says. “You may return to your Institute now. Thank you for keeping him safe.”

Isabelle flashes him a gleaming smile. “Our pleasure. It was lovely to meet you, Magnus. I’m sure that Alec would agree.”

Magnus nods wordlessly and then they’re gone, in a flounce and flash of movement. He’s left alone with Diego. 

“Hey, chickpea,” he says. He creeps forward and then sits, plopping himself down on the concrete, giving Diego ample space. “You are alright, aren’t you? You had us all worried.” 

Diego stares at his hands. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. No harm done. Your siblings will be very excited to see you.”

Water is dripping from somewhere in the alley, and Magnus finally has the presence of mind to feel the cold seeping through his pants. It’s got to be at least ten degrees below zero. Diego, inexplicably, is wrapped up in a leather jacket at least double his size, big enough to wrap over his shoulders and then across his folded knees like a blanket. 

“Did you get that from one of the Shadowhunters?”

Diego shrugs. The scar above his eye becomes visible in the shifting moonlight and then fades again. He shivers. 

“What were you doing here? Were you looking for something?” 

Still no answer. Magnus takes the moment to grab the knife out of his pocket and release the spell, then flips the knife in his hand easily and holds it out to Diego. 

“Why is it that you never speak to me when we’re alone, hmm?” 

It’s not the first time he’s noticed the pattern. Diego is unabashedly vocal when he’s with the rest of his siblings, but the few times that Magnus has caught him alone, he’s always managed to avoid speech. 

After a moment, Diego reaches for the knife slowly, as if afraid that Magnus will pull it away. He doesn’t. 

“I wonder if you might be more comfortable if we called someone over for you,” Magnus thinks aloud, then calls out into the alley. “Klaus! Would you come here, please?” 

Klaus appears in the alleyway a moment later, hands wringing together. He pauses when he can see Magnus but not Diego, and bites his lip. 

“Could you come over here for me?” 

Klaus rocks forward on his toes, compelled by the request, and then pulls himself up short. He shakes his head. Magnus notices that his eyes are wet. 

“What’s wrong pet?” 

Klaus shakes his head more urgently, and the tears start to fall. Magnus springs to his feet. “Klaus, are you alright?” 

“I won’t, I won’t,” Klaus murmurs. “I can’t. Please don’t make me, Magnus.” 

“Don’t make you what? Don’t you want to see your brother?” 

Klaus wraps his arms around his middle and squeezes his eyes closed. Magnus looks at Diego, hopeful for some guidance. 

Diego takes a big breath. “He--” he stops, clenches his jaw, then starts again. “He thinks I’m dead. That’s why-- that’s why he’s upset.” 

“He thinks you’re dead? Why-- Klaus, Diego is just fine, he’s right here!”

After a moment with no response, Magnus sends a fire message. A minute later, Ben appears in the alleyway. 

“Klaus!” Ben calls. At his voice, Klaus finally opens his eyes. Diego stands, flipping the knife and tucking it into his pocket, and walks into Klaus’s eye line. 

“I’m fine, Four.”

Klaus stares at him, then turns to Ben, eyes wide. Ben nods. “I see him too, it’s okay.”

At that, Klaus bursts into tears. 

–

It’s a little while later before Magnus gets the whole explanation. Ben explains in a low voice that Klaus’s power is to see the dead-- it takes the entirety of Magnus’s willpower not to lose his eyebrows all the way up his forehead or let out some tears himself. 

Klaus nods in confirmation now and again, but doesn’t do much else except to wrap himself around Diego like an octopus, which Diego seems to bear with a begrudging acquiescence. 

Eventually, Magnus tries again, and asks Diego what he was doing here. 

“I wanted--” he pauses. “I wanted to see Grace.”

“Grace? Who’s Grace?” 

But Diego refuses to say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and I didn't even end it on a cliffhanger, even though I could have. merry christmas


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost 100 subscribers!! can I get a wahoo if you're still reading?

They walk to a diner. Magnus hangs back with Diego, watching the group skip ahead, re-energized now with a completed task behind them and refreshments ahead. 

It doesn’t slip his notice how awed the kids appear to be with just about everything-- it’s clear that they never got out much when they were living with their father. They nudge each other and point out every building, every snow drift, every streetlight. It’s been a long night, but none have lost their resolve. 

Except Diego. 

“So, chickpea, would you like to tell me a little bit more about Grace?” 

Grace, the nanny. Ben and Klaus filled him in on many of the details, although their explanation was as disjointed as it often is with the children of adults who make decisions for them without explanation or word. It sounds as though Grace was only living with them for a short while. Their descriptions of her are strange, however, and fantastical, as though she was a character that they all made up together, like a collective imaginary friend. 

Diego shakes his head, staring at the sidewalk. Magnus smiles. 

“Maybe we can play a game of questions, hm? You can shake your head no or nod yes.”

There’s no response, and Magnus prompts with a hand, laughing softly. Diego’s lips turn up just slightly and he nods. 

“Wonderful. So Grace was your nanny, yes?”

Diego nods.

“Did she live with you children in your house at the academy?”

Another nod. 

“Did she live there for more than a year?”

Diego pauses, shrugs. 

“For a long time?” Magnus clarifies. He gets a head shake no. 

“But you cared about her?”

There’s a very long pause this time, and Magnus almost thinks that the boy won’t answer; then he nods slowly. The leather jacket is still hanging off of his frame-- he’s refused to part with it-- and he bundles further into the coat, hunching his shoulders. 

“Was she kind to you?”

A nod. 

“Did she know about your stutter?”

Diego stops dead on the sidewalk. He turns big, shocked eyes on Magnus. Then his gaze falls back to the ground. 

“I’m not wrong, am I?” Magnus stops too and turns, crouching slowly until he’s a head shorter than Diego, who still won’t look up, arms crossed resolutely. Up ahead, Vanya looks over her shoulder at them and frowns, and Magnus waves her on with a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, you know, Diego. Plenty of children have stutters.”

“I don’t,” Diego murmurs. 

“Okay, maybe I have it wrong,” Magnus concedes. “But I don’t think that I do. That’s why you won’t speak unless your siblings are around, right? You don’t want me to know.” 

“I don’t!” Diego insists, louder. “I d-- I don’t.”

His little fists clench tightly, and Magnus sighs. There may be a correct way to do this, but if there is, Magnus doesn’t know what it is. Diego is so, so angry and so stubborn, it seems an impossible task to get him to soften. Would it even be ethical to ask him to? There’s a clock over all of their heads-- perhaps it’s best that Magnus leaves this kind of bonding to the adult that the children will ultimately stay with. 

Perhaps it is not in Diego’s best interest to open up to someone only to have them leave again. The way that Grace did. 

“Okay, you don’t,” Magnus says. “I think you should know, however, that it would be okay if you did. It’s no sign of weakness, you know.”

Diego mutters something under his breath, and Magnus tilts his head. “Pardon?”

“I said it is.”

“It is what?”

“Nevermind.” 

“Listen, I think maybe that the two of us have talked enough don’t you? What do you say we catch up to your siblings and go and have some dinner? It’s certainly long overdue.” 

Diego nods stiffly, and when he turns away and reaches up to wipe a tear from his eye with his sleeve, Magnus pretends not to see it, even though it makes his heart ache. 

–

Magnus contemplates Diego all through dinner, despite his best intentions. A number of times he has to pull himself from his thoughts-- as Klaus or Number Three calls his name for the third or fourth time-- to re-engage in the meal in front of him. 

He’s not sure what it is that’s bothering him so much about the whole mess. All of the children concern him in a way that feels unique to, and more urgent than, the children that he’s given home to before. There’s something darker in the way that they all exist in the world, as if they never learned how to be people, only soldiers. Only machines. 

Even the downworlders that Magnus has taken in before usually come from tragedy. They come into his life in a rain of tears or blood or fear, and they weep with him all through the night and beg for their parents or for their previous lives to return. Even those he’s encountered who are numb are so in a way that feels deliberate; they walk with their armored bodies and guarded hearts and don’t let anyone in. 

These children don’t feel like that. They feel… two dimensional, even in their joy and sadness. It’s reminiscent of some of the downworlder adults that he keeps acquaintance with who lived during the decades when they were hunted for sport; people who have experienced far too much for one person to handle, and who have resigned themselves to a world in which that will always be the case. 

People that Magnus has always envied but now, seeing these children with the same heaviness etched into their bones, he regrets that envy. It unsettles him. 

They go a little wild with the food. 

Each of the children orders at least two meals off of the kids menu, and Luther orders three. They end up passing all of the bowls and plates around and piling up their own in front of them with a bit of everything. This time, the children eat hungrily, greedily, without abandon, and it almost makes them come alive again. 

They opt for walking home, since they’re closer now and their bellies are full. The children walk as a group and stare up at the stars. Klaus even twirls once or twice, when he thinks that no one is watching.

By the time they get back it’s quite late, and Magnus has a gnawing anxiety in his gut about Five, who they left all alone. He seemed eager to be left and yet if feels wrong to have had this night without him. 

Magnus opens the door with a key, simply because it feels wrong to have children in a home without a lock, even if it is absolutely safe with the wards. Beyond that, Mr. Furt is a mundane and though he knows about Magnus, he’ll be expecting the homeowner to enter with a key. 

As he walks in, he turns to tuck the key back into his pocket, and that is why he doesn’t see what’s happening until it’s too late. 

There’s a scuffle of feet and a curse. A loud popping noise. Magnus feels something wrap around his wrists. In another moment, Five appears in front of him, clutching a glass vial and wielding it in front of him like a hostage. 

The other kids gasp and step back, and Luther calls out, “Five!”

“Don’t move,” Five warns. He waves the vial side to side. It glitters and fizzes as the green liquid inside sloshes back and forth, nearly up and over the edge. “Don’t move or I’ll drop this and it’ll explode.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> five needs a hobby


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the comments on the last chapter were absolutely lovely! here have another!!
> 
> heads up that this chapter gets kind of heavy. it becomes pretty clear that these kids were abused. take care of yourselves and if you have any questions that you need answered before you read please feel free to ask in the comments or message me at wewalkadifferentpath.tumblr.com.

“Five, what are you doing?” Magnus tugs on his wrists experimentally. They’re wrapped in some kind of rope or twine behind his back. The knot is actually quite tight and firm; his hands won’t budge. He can magic out of them, of course, but for the moment he does as Five says and stays still. 

Whatever Five is holding shimmers inside the glass. It looks like--

It looks like the two spells that Magnus had brewing in his locked office, combined into one container. 

In which case Five would be correct; if he drops it, it could do some serious damage. 

“You killed our father and destroyed our house,” Five says. There’s hatred glinting in his eyes. There’s fear there, too; but there’s also something worse, something more reckless. “You’re going to tell us why, or I’m going to kill you.” 

“Wait, what?” Magnus’s brain comes to a screeching halt. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“What are you trying to do here?”

“I told you, you’re going to tell us what you did. And I want to know why.”

“You still believe that I’m responsible for your father’s death.” It’s not a question. 

“I know you are,” Five bites back. “I can’t prove it yet but I know that you did everything.” 

It stings, but beyond Magnus’s initial shock, it is a fair assumption. A logical one. After all, Magnus is the one who showed up to take the children. Magnus is the one who convinced them to stay with him. Magnus is the one with magic-- the only person the children know who is powerful enough to level a city block. 

It’s a fair assumption. One that Five has convinced himself is truth. 

_But this?_ Five is threatening to kill him. Five is a child, but a child who, as far as Magnus can tell, is entirely serious about carrying out his threat. A child, armed and ready to murder a man in cold blood. A perfectly crafted weapon. 

A two-dimensional soldier. 

All at once, everything comes into sickening perspective. 

“You’ve killed someone before.”

Five tightens his grip on the canister. “I can do it again.”

“Who did you kill, Five?”

“You don’t get to ask me that!” 

A wave of power rolls off of Vanya behind him, nearly knocking Magnus over with the force of it. He almost forgot about the blood on her hands. What Five is accusing _him_ of, what Five is holding _him_ hostage for, is Vanya’s doing. Not her fault, but she doesn’t understand that yet. 

She shouldn’t be here. 

“Children, I think that you should leave with Mr. Furt, please.” He makes his voice as firm as possible. “Where is he, Five?”

Magnus has them protected. Even still, he’s not taking the chance that something occurs that he can’t predict, especially when one of the tiny children behind him is just as much of a walking bomb as the container in Five’s hand. 

And in any case, physical protection is not the only kind of protecting that this little family needs. 

“We don’t want to go,” Number Three says. He can’t tell from her voice whether she believes Five’s accusations or not. She may want to stay to protect her brother. She may want to stay to _stop_ her brother. He can’t see what any of them are thinking or feeling. 

He can’t make this better for them.

“Just tell me why you killed our father,” Five insists. “What do you want with us?”

Magnus can’t help it-- he closes his eyes.“Nothing. I don’t want anything from any of you, except to keep you safe. I told you that.”

“You want to use our powers. For what?”

“No,” Magnus says. “No, I don’t, Five, I promise you that I don’t.”

“I believe him,” Diego chimes in from behind him. “He doesn’t even know what our powers are, Five.”

“Yeah, lay off, okay?” Klaus adds tentatively. His voice breaks and Magnus wants to hug him. “Magnus didn’t do anything.”

Five rolls his eyes. “Think about it,” he says, with all of the urgency and frustration of someone explaining something of great significance to a child. He seems to have forgotten that he’s just a child, too. “He comes right after our house explodes. He brings all of us to _his_ house. He’s controlling our powers. And he kept Vanya away from us the whole week. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” 

There’s no response behind him. Magnus chances a glance backward, and the kids look wary. Confused. 

“Everyone, please go to Mr. Furt’s apartment.”

Magnus may have them protected, but his magic can’t protect Five from himself. If that thing explodes… it’s unthinkable. He won’t let that happen. 

They don’t need to see their brother like this, either. 

Though it seems likely now that they already have. 

Vanya’s power is rolling off of her in waves. It’s difficult to think. He wants to put up a barrier around the potion or to simply move it somewhere else, but while he doesn’t require his hands for those spells, he does need to move. He’s not certain that he can pull it off without Five pulling the trigger. Containing Vanya without any movement is already difficult enough. 

“Last chance,” Five snarls. He takes a step closer, and Magnus tries to focus. Tries to breath. He can fix this. “Tell me why you did it!”

“No,” Luther’s voice interrupts, clear as a bell through the tension. Everyone pauses. “It wasn’t him. It was her.”

Five’s swivels to Luther in a millisecond, gaze steely on his sibling. “What do you mean?” he demands.

“Number Seven. She lost control. She did this.” 

At that moment, two things happen. 

One, Magnus blinks as hard as he can manage, and the potion and restraints both disappear. 

Two, all of the lights in loft shatter at once, and everyone turns to Number Seven just as everything goes dark. 

–

_Number One holds his breath as he creeps another socked foot forward down the hallway. He’s not supposed to be here, and if Father catches him…_

_But he has to be here. He has to see what’s happening. Number One never breaks the rules-- a leader never breaks the rules, that’s what Father says-- but he’s breaking them just a little bit this time because he_ needs _to see._

_Stretching himself up on his toes, Number One peeks around the corner. The coast is clear. He shuffles down the hallway and presses himself against the door. There’s no noise from inside. The room is sound proof, and that’s why Number One needs to see, even though it makes this mission more dangerous._

_There’s a little window set into the corner of the wall next to the door and that’s where Number One stations himself. He takes a big breath, holds it, and then turns and peeks in._

_Inside the office, Father and Number Seven are talking. Father is standing behind his desk-- he never stands when Number One is in the room-- and saying something very sternly to Number Seven. Instead of listening she’s talking back, talking over Father. She’s always talking over Father. She’s dangerous and she doesn’t obey, and somehow, she still gets the most time with Father. He’s more lenient with her._

_It’s not fair._

_Number One pulls away from the door when Father turns in his direction, and gasps for air._

_He closes his eyes and counts to ten, thinking of every excuse that he can so that Father won’t be angry with him, but he knows that he can’t lie. Leaders never lie, either, and Number One is a leader._

_He’ll take whatever punishment he gets. He can handle it, that’s what Father says. He doesn’t get punished very often because he doesn’t ever disobey, but Father likes to push him to see what he’s capable of. And sometimes he gets punished when the team doesn’t do well or when one of his siblings displeases Father. Usually Two, or Four. They never listen and it seems a bit unfair that Number One gets punished because of it, but he knows that it’s because he’s the leader._

_It scares him a little, what punishment he might get for something like this. They aren’t supposed to be around Number Seven. They’re also strictly forbidden from going in or near Father’s office without permission._

_But it doesn’t matter anyways, because ten seconds pass and no one comes out. He lets out the air that he’s holding, takes another breath, and then peeks in the window again._

_It looks like Number Seven is yelling. She’s screaming something at Father, who watches her with his arms crossed, watch in front of him, eyes flickering to the time as he waits for her to calm down._

_There’s a strange moment when Number Seven clenches her fists and all the stuff in the room shakes and then settles. Number One clutches his ears as a piercing screech rips through the door and then it’s like a bubble has popped, and he can hear her._

_“I’m not dangerous!” she’s screaming. “I’m not dangerous I’m not dangerous I’m not dangerous!”_

_There are tears pouring down her face. Number One almost feels badly for her, but then he remembers that she’s probably just trying to manipulate Father. That’s what she does._

_“Why can’t you just be a dad?” Number Seven yells. “I just need a dad. Why don’t you even care?”_

_Number One is confused-- Father does care about them. That’s why he trains them. Number Seven is ungrateful, probably._

_“Look at me!” she yells. Her voice is hoarse and screechy; it hurts his ears and he pulls away a little. “Do you even care? I’m crying and you’re looking at your stupid watch! Look at me! I’m not dangerous, I just need a dad. Please, please!”_

_Father scoffs and shakes his head, disappointed with her outburst. More tears pour down Number Seven’s cheeks and Number One suddenly has the feeling that he shouldn’t be watching this._

_“Please,” she whispers. “Please tell me I’m not dangerous. Please say something.”_

_There’s a tense moment when Father finally looks at her, and Luther waits with baited breath to see what he’ll do. Then he reaches out, head turned away as if disgusted by her, a bored line set into his mouth, and he slaps her._

_Number Seven pauses, eyes wide, and it seems like something changes in her eyes. Her body sags for a second and then she straightens, and everything in her seems to lift. Her shoulders, her hair, her energy. The room starts to shake again. The piercing noise gets louder._

_He runs._

–

Reality fills back in around Number One slowly and hazily. 

There’s a warm light in front of him somewhere and his fingers twitch toward it, eyes trying to focus. Someone is speaking in a soft, rhythmic voice, saying something that he doesn’t understand. After a minute, he realizes what it is-- it’s singing. 

He blinks and tries to take stock. That’s what Father tells them to do whenever they lose consciousness in a fight. He can’t waste time. 

It’s just that-- it’s just that the singing sounds so nice. And he’s so tired. 

So he sits for a moment and just listens. That can’t be wrong, can it? This isn’t a fight so maybe it doesn’t count. Except-- 

Except Number Seven broke all of the lights. Number Seven broke all of the lights and maybe she destroyed this whole house too, the way that she destroyed theirs. That time Number One didn’t do anything to stop it and he won’t let this be his fault again. 

He sits up with a gasp, and realizes that he can’t breath. There’s smoke filling his lungs. Ashes. It’s too dark to see. Where did that light go? 

A hand squeezes his, and Number One squeezes back, because he can’t think of anything else to do. The singing stops for a second and Magnus voice tells him, “it’s okay, Luther. Take another breath.”

He does. The singing starts again. 

For some reason, it makes him feel safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wahoo count to date: 1


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day??? is it too much yet

By the time that Luther rejoins them completely, Vanya has calmed down to an acceptable level. It took all of the songs that Magnus could remember in Indonesian to get her there, but it finally feels like everyone can breath again. 

He counts with her again-- in for four, hold for four, out for four. Taps the beats gently on her knee. He counts them out for Luther too, by squeezing his hand. A couple of times Luther squeezes back, eyes clouded and unfocused on the wall opposite. 

Then Luther blinks, and shakes his head, and immediately begins to rise unsteadily onto his feet. Magnus tries to hush him and tug him gently back down but he shakes him off, reluctantly ripping his hand out of Magnus’s grasp. 

“What’s going on? What did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything, my dear. Everything is okay.”

“Where is everyone?” 

“Right behind you, bumblebee.” 

Luther turns as quickly as he can on shaky legs and counts his siblings out under his breath, like a roll call. Klaus smiles and does a little wave with his fingers. Everyone else looks away. 

“How long was I asleep for?” Luther asks. He feels around in his pockets, stares down at his jeans, and then looks up and around the room uncertainly, realization setting in. “What--?”

“Ahh, you’ve arrived with us now, have you? You weren’t asleep, you were… having a flashback, I believe. We’re still in my loft.”

“A what?”

“A flashback. Like a waking nightmare, but something you remember instead of making it up. Does that sound right?”

Luther nods, seemingly before he can help himself, and bites his lip. “The lights--?”

“The light bulbs did break. That was my fault, unfortunately. It takes a lot of magic to keep you lot contained.” He’s still tapping on Vanya’s knee. _One two three four. One two three four. One two three four._

Luther grows solemn. “You mean her.”

“Not just her, but yes, she did get the best of me a little bit this time. That’s alright. Broken bulbs were an easy problem to clean up. How are you feeling?” 

“She killed our dad.”

Magnus hums. _One two three four._ “You could say that,” he agrees. “It was ultimately her power which caused the explosion, if we’re being technical.”

“You knew?” Five asks from the couch. He hasn’t looked up from his hands. 

“Yes, I knew. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Why not?” Luther asks. “You should take her away from here.” 

Next to him, Vanya chokes on a breath, and he gently pinches her knee. “I didn’t mean to,” she says. 

Magnus smiles at her with as much tenderness as he can muster. “I know you didn’t, lovebug. Everyone here knows that. It’s just going to be a bit tricky while everyone adapts to the news, alright?” 

There’s a crack as Diego pushes the coffee table over. He rounds it and then the couch, walking slowly to stand in front of Luther, who straightens and regards him with feigned disinterest. 

They stare at each other for a minute, and Magnus readies himself to intervene. Then Diego opens his mouth. 

“You’re nothing,” he says. He turns to Vanya. “And you wrecked everything. I hate you both. I hate you all.” 

He storms toward his room, and Magnus watches him go but makes no move to follow. His window is warded against another run-away attempt and there’s not much else he can get up to in the bedroom. Besides, they all need a break. 

Magnus’s head is spinning. It’s becoming harder and harder to manage Vanya’s power, and there’s a persistent fear that is growing in his gut the longer that she stays with him. It seems a near impossible question, one that Magnus hasn’t had to contemplate in centuries, but he’s quickly seeing little other avenue. 

_What if she’s more powerful than him?_

If he can’t handle her, there may quite literally be no one else who can. What do you do with a child who can’t be protected? One with this much capacity for destruction? 

He needs reinforcements. He needs to talk to the only person who may yet have an answer that won’t bring him to despair. 

–

The kids scatter after that. Magnus tries to offer them alternatives but they won’t hear of it-- it’s been a long night, and their resolves are finally worn thin. They all retreat to their individuals rooms and Magnus, weak as he feels, does the same. 

He’s tapping out yet another phone number on his cell phone half an hour later-- Mr. Furt is unharmed and at home, though not entirely sure why or how he ended up there; Magnus has a lunch meeting with Luke next Tuesday and an appointment with a local warlock next Wednesday and yes, Catarina can babysit and yes, Magnus understands that Valentine is a real threat, and no _Laurence,_ he isn’t actually feeling alright-- when there’s a faint knock on his door. 

“Come in.”

The door creaks open slowly. It’s Five, in pajamas and clutching a book to his rib cage. He walks all the way into the office, closes the door again behind him, and hangs his head. 

“Hey pumpkin,” Magnus says. He takes a second to relax his shoulders against the immediate spark of wariness and resentment that he feels upon seeing the boy. _It’s not his fault,_ he reminds himself. _It’s all that he knows._ It doesn’t make it go away, but at the very least, it may hide it a touch. 

“Hello,” Five says stiffly. 

After a moment, Magnus puts the phone down. “Can I help you with something?” 

Five clears his throat, and thumbs through the top pages of the book distractedly. “No.”

Right. Magnus pinches the top of his nose. It’s not his fault. It’s not Five’s fault. 

“In that case, there’s a few more phone calls that I need to make, if that’s alright?” He knows that he’s being short. He knows that it’s against what he believes in regarding how to approach children. But he can’t-- he’s just out of steam. That’s all. 

He’s exhausted, and Five’s unpredictability is the last thing that he needs right now. 

“That’s alright,” Five agrees, but instead of leaving, he perches in the chair on the opposite side of the desk and folds his hands with the book neatly over his lap. 

Magnus stares at him for a second, openly gaping. Then he sighs. “Fine.”

So Magnus simply... carries on. He calls, and he types, and he writes fire messages, and he tries not to cry. All the while Five sits there, staring blankly at the desk and then eventually, he opens the book to somewhere in the middle and begins to read. 

Some time later, Magnus is startled by a cup of coffee appearing quite suddenly on his desk. He looks up to see Five giving the wall a cautious imitation of a smile. 

“Thank you,” Magnus says, and as soon as he takes the first sip, Five walks out as wordlessly as he came. 

–

Dawn breaks over the loft like a golden light in a clouded sky. The children are woken up by their alarms at precisely 9:00am, same as always. The table is set, but nobody comes. 

At 9:45am Magnus makes his decision. He calls Catarina, makes himself a note to send her a gift basket as soon as possible, and then writes out a fire message to the only person that he really wants to see, and sends a prayer with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wahoo count to date: 3 and I'm very proud of all 3 of you
> 
> fluff is on the horizon, I promise. the fluffiest of fluff. we'll get there


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew, this might be the longest I've gone between updates but I'm BACK, never fear
> 
> was away for the long weekend at a cottage with no wifi and then started a new job, so life has been chaos but should be more regular again now, fingers crossed
> 
> tbh I'm not thrilled with this chapter either so go easy on me but I've just gotta get it out so that I can get over the block and keep writing! and we finally get Allison's POV so that's fun :)

Magnus is gone for a long, tense day, and none of them leave their rooms. It’s silent, even Klaus’s room next to hers which is never quiet, and there’s no crackle of one of Five’s jumps, not even once. 

Allison considers going out to say hi to Luther-- or going out to see anyone at all-- but then thinks better of it. She can occupy herself just fine. Even if she does hate being alone. 

Catarina brings them each food individually; at one point, she disappears into Ben’s room for a while and Allison can hear the low murmur of their voices from across the hall. She doesn’t come back out for a pretty long time and Allison wonders if that means that Vanya had to wait for her dinner, since she was going to be the last one to be served, and maybe it’s cold now. 

But then, Allison doesn’t really want to think about Number Seven at all right now. So she doesn’t. 

There’s not really much to do here though. She pulls out a magazine from under her bed-- one that she convinced Magnus to buy for her-- and flips through to a page that she’s already read a hundred times. Staring at the pictures is comforting. It makes her think of what will be, one day. When she’s just like those people. Famous. Happy. 

Magnus comes sweeping back in that evening, and it’s like the roof opens up and new air floods in, clean and refreshing but uncomfortably chilly. When he bounds into the hallway to visit them he’s got a new energy than he had before, but also a new urgency. Allison is good at recognizing smiles that are not really pretend, but are still fake. Magnus blows her a kiss goodnight and she turns away to the wall. 

That night, she dreams that Luther is singing to her. Only it’s in Magnus’s voice. When she wakes up, she doesn’t remember the words. 

Her alarm goes off at 9am. At 9:05am she hears a chair scraping across the floor in the kitchen, and Klaus’s sleepy hello and Magnus’s answering good morning. 

At 9:07am she joins her siblings, and they all have breakfast like nothing ever happened. 

Allison is good at pretending, too. 

\--

“A scavenger hunt,” Magnus declares, three days later. He claps his hands together and then wiggles them apart. _Jazz hands,_ they’re called.

“A scavenger hunt,” Allison repeats. Luther and Five are already standing, and even Diego looks up from his wood carving, which Magnus lets him do at the table sometimes if he promises not to use the knife for anything else including carving the table. 

Magnus probably doesn’t know that Diego has already carved six versions of his name over top an academy mask all over the bottom of the table. She’s saving that one if she ever needs something good to tattle. Not that Magnus ever punishes Diego, which if you ask her isn’t fair. Maybe he would if he knew that, though. It’s a nice table.

“What kind of scavenger hunt?” Five asks. 

Klaus raises his hand. “What’s a scavenger hunt?”

“It’s when you go looking for clues that lead you to more clues, dummy,” Allison tells him. 

Magnus claps his hands together again. “That’s right, Number Three. Although we could do without the insult to your brother, yes?”

Allison’s face goes red hot all the way up to her ears. It doesn’t help when Klaus smiles and winks at her, just to rub it in. She crosses her arms and decides not to talk for a while. 

“It’s come to my attention that you kids may need a bit more... stimulation,” Magnus continues. “Our routine is good, but I don’t think that leaving you alone for free periods without a task is working out.”

He means yesterday, when he told them that they had an hour to play however they wanted, _as long as it’s safe._ When he came to check on them, Diego was throwing knives into Magnus’s couch cushions as Luther practiced lifting it up and down. Allison can’t rumour anyone in this house so she was mostly watching, and practicing her kicks. Magnus frowned at them told them that Ben and Klaus tossing paper airplanes at each other in the corner was close, but he didn’t ask the rest of them to train, he told them to play. 

Allison wanted to tell him that they didn’t really know how to play. But then she thought of a fort made out of blankets, and pop cans, and dancing, and she kept her mouth shut. Maybe Luther just didn’t want to play with her anymore, and she wasn’t going to be a baby about it. 

It wasn’t fair that Vanya hadn’t gotten told off too, though. All _she_ was doing was sitting in the other corner humming and counting. That’s not even close to playing. 

(Actually, Allison felt a little bad for her, being all alone. But every time she thinks of Luther’s face when he told everyone what Vanya did, the feeling bad goes away). 

“I’m giving you a task this time,” Magnus says. “If you finish the scavenger hunt by the end of the day, you’ll get a reward.” 

Klaus hand shoots up again. Allison rolls her eyes. “What reward?” he asks.

Magnus smiles. “It’s a surprise. But you’ll like it, I promise.”

“And if we don’t finish in time?” Five asks. They all look at Magnus. 

He frowns-- he does that an awful lot. “Nothing,” he says. “You just won’t have earned your reward. But,” he adds, a little more urgently, “there is no punishment for not finishing in time.”

Five stares at him with a bored expression, which Allison knows means that he’s suspicious. Their dad was big on punishments for not finishing things, especially for Five. 

“Rank is in order of our numbers, right, sir?” Luther asks. It’s sort of dumb that he calls Magnus sir, but Allison gets why. “That means that I’m in charge?”

“Actually,” Magnus corrects, “this time, I would like Vanya to be in charge. And your numbers won’t mean anything otherwise. You’ll all be a team, with Vanya at the head.”

Vanya looks up, startled. She picks at some skin around her nail and then says, quietly, “do I have to?”

“I don’t think that’s wise, sir,” Luther adds on hurriedly. “Number Seven has never lead a mission before. She doesn’t have the experience.”

Magnus gives Luther a knowing look. “Then it’s about time that she gained some, don’t you think? So, what do you all say?” 

– 

Magnus gives them the first clue, right into Vanya’s hands. Then he wiggles a finger at Allison. 

“Number Three, may I speak to you a moment?”

Allison looks at Luther, who’s frowning nervously but still nods at her. She trails after Magnus, wary. 

Today his outfit is what Reginald would have called _ridiculous_ and _frivolous,_ but which she actually kind of likes, even if it is ridiculous and frivolous. He’s wearing a bright robin’s egg blue jacket with a scale pattern, open over a shiny black shirt with a high collar. He’s also wearing a ton of jewelry and make-up and for a second she wonders if he would ever share with her. She feels so plain, even in the demin skirt she bought. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, as soon as the others can’t hear them. He reaches up to play with the cuff on his ear. “I’ve noticed the way that you’ve supported your sister these past few days, organizing everyone to keep watch over her. That’s really wonderful, ladybug.” 

She wants to tell him not to call her ladybug. Instead she says, “I didn’t do it to be nice to her.”

She didn’t. Magnus is right-- she’s been organizing all of her siblings the past few days to make sure that Vanya is never alone during the day-- but it’s not for the reason that he thinks. It was something that Luther said; to make sure that Vanya can’t hurt anyone else, they need to be with her all the time. 

So at least one of them always picks the same activity as Vanya in the schedule. Even Diego did it once, with a lot of pouting and kicking things first and a little bribery. Luther volunteers for a bunch of the shifts, even though it clearly scares him to be around Vanya. It scares Allison too, but she’s not going to think about that either. 

Magnus’s gaze suddenly gentles. He smiles softly at her and she crosses her arms, feeling itchy. 

“No, of course you didn’t,” he says, but it sounds like he means something else.

Except that she’s telling the truth. She wanted to keep everyone safe from Vanya, that’s all. Magnus always thinks there’s more to things and sometimes there just isn’t.

"I know that it's been hard for all of you to feel safe around Vanya since you found out about the accident," he adds, almost quietly enough to not be meant for her. Allison doesn't answer. It seems like a stupid thing to say. Too obvious, too patronizing. He seems to realize that. 

“Can I trust you to keep watch of Vanya during the scavenger hunt?” he asks. “I have a feeling that she’ll need someone to encourage her to make decisions for the group.” Allison sighs. Vanya shouldn’t be making any decisions in the first place. But that argument won’t work. She knows what Magnus is trying to do; Vanya has hardly spoken to anyone since Luther told everyone the truth, and when she does, she's nervous and distant. There's no way that she's going to make any decisions for any of them. They'll probably just have to get this whole stupid day over with, and get whatever their stupid reward is. 

“I guess,” she says. Magnus’s answering smile is huge. 

“Great,” he says. “In that case, you’d better catch up to your siblings. It looks like they’re already three or four clues in.”

–

The scavenger hunt takes the entire day. 

There are all sorts of clues and every answer is totally different. Some require them to find the next one in a special location. Some are riddles. Some require an activity to get the next clue, which Magnus somehow set up with his magic so that the clue would release when the activity is completed. 

One clue instructs them to get from one end of the loft to the other without ever touching the ground. Five just teleports but the rest of them spend two hours figuring out how to build a path out of blankets, pillows, and books. No matter how hard they try to cheat or work around it, it doesn’t work. Only when all _one two three four five six seven_ of them touch the far wall without ever touching the floor does the next clue finally materialize, right out of thin air. 

They all implicitly decide to ignore that Vanya is supposed to be the leader. She barely talks. Whenever Magnus pops back in to supervise, they all pretend to be listening to her. Otherwise they just do their own thing like always, which means Luther leading, Diego fighting him, and Five and Allison figuring out most of the answers while the rest trail behind. At one point Klaus asks a ghost where the clue is and finds it, and it’s the first time that they all smile together. 

They break three vases, have two screaming matches, and eat most of the snacks in the house before they get to the last clue. All it says, in fancy cursive, is one word that Allison doesn’t recognize. 

“Griddy’s... It’s a doughnut place,” Vanya mumbles to herself. It’s the first time she’s spoken in over ten minutes. Then, a little louder, “I saw it on the street before, on the way to the department store.” 

“Do you know the way?” Five asks her. She pauses, one finger bent at her lip, then nods. 

“Then let’s go!” Klaus says. “What are we waiting for? These boots are made for walking!” He clicks his bare heels together. 

“There’s no way that Magnus would let us go there by ourselves,” Ben says. “We’re probably supposed to go get him so he can take us in that car again with him.”

“No way,” Diego mutters. “Let’s go ourselves. He’s not watching, he won’t even notice that we’re gone.”

“That’s true,” Five confirms. “He’s always worried about his job when he’s in his office. We just have to go quickly.” 

“We can’t leave,” Luther protests. “We’ll get in trouble.” He shoots Allison a look, hopeful for back up, but she pretends not to see and quickly looks away. She doesn’t know what to think. 

Luther’s right; they could get into trouble. Magnus hasn’t been nearly as focused on work since he visited his friend, and there’s a good chance that he’ll come out to check on them and notice them missing. Luther still thinks of himself as their leader, even when he’s not leading the mission, and if they all get punished then he’ll take that on himself and feel guilty even though he doesn't need to. Plus, bringing Vanya to a public place without Magnus could be disastrous. Luther will be on constant guard. And it's not like they can go without her. 

But on the other hand, she wants to tell him to stop being so serious all the time. Doughnuts sounds fun. And what’s Magnus going to do to them? It can’t be that bad. They need to do something fun, something that real kids do, this one time at least. Even if Vanya does have to come along. 

Instead of making her mind up about it, she tries something else, remembering her agreement with Magnus. “Vanya is our leader,” she says. “Let her pick what we do.”

Vanya’s eyes go wide. So do everyone else’s. “I uh, that’s okay. We can vote?” 

“No,” Allison insists. “You’re the leader. You have to choose.” 

Vanya gulps and looks around at all of their faces, holding her breath and tapping her knee. Everyone waits. It feels like a test. Finally-- after so long that Allison almost nudges her with her foot-- Vanya nods. 

“Okay, we’re going. Without Magnus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps. there will be no Allison/Luther in this fic, so don't worry. Or at least, not in the present tense and not endorsed. I believe that their feelings for each other are just as much of a trauma response as any of their other behaviours and if that is explored at all then it will be in that context. and yes I know that scene in the greenhouse was actually when Luther and Allison were older in canon buuuttt in my timeline it happened sooner so there 
> 
> wahoo count to date: 8


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prepare to have your icy hearts melted

“Griddy’s... It’s a doughnut place,” Vanya is saying, quite suddenly. “I saw it on the street before, on the way to the department store.”

Magnus smiles, carefully inserting his waiting bookmark in between the pages of the spell book. He was hoping that she would pick up on that. Vanya is more observant than her siblings-- has had to be. 

“Do you know the way?” Five asks. There’s a pause in which nobody speaks, but presumably, Vanya nods. Magnus pushes the spell out a little further. He’s eavesdropping, technically speaking, and despite the fact that many adults would consider it acceptable to spy on children’s activities, he believes otherwise. He respects privacy, including theirs. This clue is the one exception. 

“Then let’s go!” Klaus says, a little too loudly. “What are we waiting for? These boots are made for walking!”

“There’s no way that Magnus would let us go there by ourselves,” Ben counters. “We’re probably supposed to go get him so he can take us in that car again with him.”

Magnus’s smile widens. He feels strangely humbled by Ben’s defense of his rules, even in his absence. It feels something like trust; if only a little bit. 

“No way,” Diego mutters. “Let’s go ourselves. He’s not watching, he won’t even notice that we’re gone.”

“That’s true,” Five agrees. “He’s always worried about his job when he’s in his office. We just have to go quickly.”

Magnus rolls his eyes to himself, but it’s lighthearted. It was easy to guess that either Diego or Five would be the catalyst of this micro rebellion. He shouldn’t be surprised that it’s both of them.

At the same time, there’s a slight tightening in his chest. He may not be as good at balancing his work life as he’s thought. The kids seem to have decided where Magnus’s priorities lay, and it’s not with them. 

_They’re not exactly wrong, are they?_

“We can’t leave,” Luther protests. “We’ll get in trouble.” 

There’s an even longer pause this time, heavy with anticipation, and then Number Three says, “Vanya is our leader. Let her pick what we do.”

“I uh, that’s okay. We can vote?” Vanya tries. Magnus holds his breath. 

“No,” Allison asserts. “You’re the leader. You have to choose.”

_Come on sweetling, you can do it._

“Okay, we’re going. Without Magnus.”

–

He follows them to the door. Watches as all seven of them bundle up into unfamiliar winter gear, scowling at snow pants and rejecting scarves. Diego opts for the Shadowhunter’s leather jacket instead of his winter coat. Klaus is coerced into wearing shoes. Five has an extra pair of mittens from somewhere. For one aching moment they look like a real family, and Magnus’s stomach draws itself in and squashes out his breath. 

None of them see him. That was his intention, of course, but he’d wondered… he’d considered that perhaps one of them might have powers that would cross over with the downworld. But none of them notice him. There’s a minute where Klaus’s gaze is drawn to where Magnus is standing, cloaked, and skates past him. Klaus’s eyebrows draw together, but then he’s distracted by the chatter of his siblings, and nothing more comes from it. 

It’s clear that they’ve never snuck out before, at least not as a group. They’re terrible at it. They all keep shushing each other, but none of them seem to abide by it. Diego relocks the front door with his knife before they leave. 

Magnus waits three minutes, and then follows them out. 

They skate through the streets easily enough. It’s a little past dinner time now and the streetlamps are turning on as they walk under them, a sliver of mundane magic born from coincidence. 

Slowly but surely, with little other choice, Vanya ends up at the front of the group. She leads without confidence, unaided by Luther hovering beside her, watching her like a hawk. 

At one point, a man passing them on the street stops in his tracks.

“You’re that Academy thing, aren’t you?” he asks, peering at them through heavily lidded eyes. The kids stop and straighten their stance, visibly preening. 

“Sure are,” Klaus says, and it sounds nearly sarcastic. 

“Are you a fan?” Number Three asks. The man frowns. 

“Well sure,” he says, “who isn’t, really? You kids are quite something. Well, the big one is, in any case. Not sure what the rest of your powers are, are we? But those robberies you stopped were impressive in any case, I’d reckon.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Number Three says, at the same time that Number Five says, tightly, “thanks.”

“No problem kids. Anyway, what are you doing out here all alone in the evening like this? Where’s your father-- what was his name? Good man, him. Ronald? Reg-”

“I heard a rumour that you forgot you ever saw us and left,” Number Three interrupts. The man blinks, cut off mid sentence. He shakes his head.

“I better be going,” he says. Then he walks off into the gloom. The kids relax. 

Magnus winces. 

“It’s nice not to be in that loft anymore,” Number Three says. No one else comments on what happened. After a moment, Vanya starts walking again, and their little line continues, a silent procession through the snow. 

–

It’s another ten minutes before they reach the diner. The kids appear buoyed by the warmth, shedding layers as they step with false bravado up to the counter. Klaus pats Vanya on the back as he steps past and she smiles, hair falling forward into her face. 

“I think Vanya should order first,” he says. “She is our fearless leader after all.”

Vanya appears momentarily speechless. “That’s okay, Number Four.”

He shakes his head, curls bouncing. “No. You order first. It’s only right.”

Vanya bites her lip, sending a searching glance over her shoulder at Diego, as if expecting a sneak attack. Then she sighs noiselessly. “Okay. Uhm, I think I’ll have a chocolate doughnut, please,” she says quietly, in the general direction of the counter. The server doesn’t hear her. 

Number Three smacks a hand to her forehead. “Let me handle this,” she says. She steps up to the counter. 

“One chocolate doughnut for my sister, please,” she says, her voice falsely sweet. “Klaus, what do you want?”

Magnus steps out of the diner just as Klaus shouts “SPRINKLES!” loudly enough to cover the noise of the door closing behind. He collapses into the bench out front, wracked with giggles and feeling strangely light. 

He leans back on the bench, dizzy with too many emotions, and props his feet up on a small pile of snow in front of him. Inside, he can still hear the kids shouting and giggling, no magic needed.

It’s exactly what he’d hoped for. 

And yet--

And yet it feels tinted with melancholy. It feels like defeat, somehow. Or betrayal. A betrayal to himself.

He’s shown himself something that he’s always wanted-- _family,_ his brain whispers, urgent and merciless-- but he’s walked himself into yet another trap. Because this is something that he can’t keep. 

Something that he doesn’t want to keep, he tries to tell himself, but he knows that it’s a lie. 

Certainly, there are numerous reasons why he might not want this life. The kids are more than a handful. He’s exhausted and overwhelmed and neglecting the rest of his life, including his community. He’s not ready for this responsibility, not even after all of the other downworlders he’s looked after. He never asked for it. 

And yet, and yet. 

_You’re in love with the idea of this family,_ Ragnor told him, when Magnus had shown up on his doorstep three days ago. _You’re in love with the safety of being needed. But you also love these children, that much I can see. Stop fighting it, my old friend. It won’t last forever, but when has that stopped you before? Love them while you can, Magnus. They need it, and so do you._

Ragnor was right, the bastard. Magnus can't keep these kids forever-- the war will assure that more certainly than any decision he might make-- but he has them for now, and while that isn’t enough, perhaps it's something. 

Magnus contemplates this under the light of the streetlamp, to the sound of Five’s raucous laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wahoo count to date: 10


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) can I just say, I absolutely love you guys. this is the most fun I've ever had posting a WIP. you've all been so lovely and have made this process so easy and exciting!
> 
> this chapter is short but.. a little rough. some of the tags come into effect. message me if you need details to prepare. take care of yourselves. xx
> 
> the story giveth, and the story taketh away

After some time, listening peacefully to the excited chatter of the children, Magnus realizes that Number Three has been noticeably quiet. 

He had sensed her agitated reluctance earlier, mingled with her desire for freedom, and he understands. Her heart, it seems, is split into three-- one half for Vanya, one half for Luther, and one half for herself. Her love for the rest of her siblings exists as a background hum as she shifts the three around like puzzle pieces that won’t all fit together, carefully choosing which to discard at any given moment. For this outing it was Luther. 

Perhaps he can make her feel a little bit better about her decision. 

He waits, watching, until he sees her look out through the window, and then he drops the cloaking spell. It takes a second for her to see him, and when she does she doesn’t realize what she’s looking at right away. And then she smiles-- it seems to be startled out of her, genuine and open-- and raises her eyebrows. 

He winks at her. Puts a finger to his lips, briefly, and then flashes her a thumbs up. She ducks her head and grins. 

Magnus grins back, feeling lighter than he has since the children first came home with him. 

There’s a noise to his right, and Magnus freezes. He ducks out of sight of Three, coiling in on himself on the bench, ready to spring. 

It’s one of the Shadowhunters he’d met when Diego was missing. It takes a second for his brain to locate the name. _Jace._

“What do you want?” Magnus calls out to him. Jace pauses under the light, rocking forward onto his toes. 

“I come in peace,” he says. He raises his hands up in a gesture of surrender, unleashing a cocky smile and tilting his head so that his blond hair shifts forward over one eye. 

It’s as carefully calculated as it is genuine. This boy is used to getting what he wants. 

Trauma survivor? Narcissist? Magnus is making assumptions, but he hasn’t lived hundreds of years by ignoring his instincts.

“Your kind rarely come in peace,” Magnus counters, emboldened by the evening he’s had. Jace frowns.

“Look, I was just out for a walk, okay? I saw you sitting here. Can’t a guy say hi?”

Magnus examines the boy’s tattered t-shirt and jeans. He was doing more than walking. 

“The kids look happy,” Jace remarks, sauntering over to sit next to Magnus on the bench. Magnus scowls.

“I suppose you’re surprised by that.”

Jace’s eyebrows draw together. “I wouldn’t say that. Sure, you don’t really seem like the parenting type, if I’m being honest, but you were good with that kid before. How is he?”

“He’s fine.”

“You know,” Jace says, grin turning a touch wicked, “Alec hasn’t stopped talking about that. About you. He’s a little… obsessed.”

Magnus’s guard slams back into place. “He should refrain from poking his nose into business that doesn’t concern him,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“That isn’t exactly what I meant,” Jace mutters. “Anyways, he’s… got a lot on his plate, right now. Your little gang of kids is the least of his worries.” 

With a deliberate breath, Magnus relaxes his shoulders. He keeps his spine stiff and straight. “I’m sure life is very hard for you young, attractive Shadowhunters.”

It’s meant to be sarcastic, but Jace seems to either not notice, or decide to ignore it. “It is, sometimes,” he agrees quietly. “Especially for Alec.” He takes a shaky breath, and looks at Magnus closely. “You-- you’re gay, right? Not to be presumptuous, but I mean, the way you’re--”

“Bisexual,” Magnus interrupts. He raises an eyebrow. 

“Right,” Jace says. “Bisexual. Right. Anyways. Thanks for the chat, I should get back.” 

He stands slowly, subtly favouring his left wrists as he hauls himself upright. When he sees Magnus looking at the injury, he looks away quickly and clears his throat. 

“Uhm, one more thing,” he says once he’s standing. He hesitates, tilting his body back in Magnus’s direction. The lights from the diner make his eyes look like blue green flame. “You’re uh, you’ll probably get official notice of this soon but… a warlock was killed this afternoon. Ragnor. Ragnor Fell? It was a--”

Magnus blood goes cold. 

He misses the rest of whatever the shadowhunter is saying; the pounding in his ears drowns out everything but the intake of his own breath. He scrapes a dry tongue over the roof of his mouth.

“Ragnor Fell?” he chokes out. “Are you sure?”

It’s impossible. Isn’t it? Ragnor’s home is one of the best guarded secrets in their community. To even enter his property, one has to walk through a ring of magical fire. Besides, if it were true--

If Ragnor was dead, surely Magnus would know. Surely he’d feel it. Surely--

“Yes,” Jace is saying, somewhere in the background of Magnus’s awareness. “I’m sure. It was demons, they managed to get through the fire by following--”

_Oh god. Oh god._

Magnus can’t breathe. 

He can’t--

Ragnor is dead. 

Ragnor is dead. 

Ragnor is--

It takes less than a second for him to make the portal. He’s in Ragnor’s living room before he can realize that he’s choking, that he hasn’t taken a breath since he first heard Ragnor’s name on that shadowhunters lips. He coughs and pulls in air frantically. Then he starts screaming his best friend’s name. 

There’s no sign of him anywhere. A few chairs are knocked over, a scattering of papers covers the floor. A post from the guardrail on the second floor is hanging halfway out, the wood split. 

There’s blood on the floor. The Shadowhunters didn’t even bother to clean it. But they took his body. They’ll take everything in this house, ransack it for all that it’s worth. They like to pretend that they have respect for the dead, but that only includes their own kind. This place will turn into a mine for their greed; it’s not a home anymore. 

Because Ragnor is dead. 

A blast of magic cracks through the air and all of the glass in the building shatters at once. The noise is like a hurricane. The lights rain sharp shards down on Magnus’s arms but he pays it no mind. The darkness is a comfort. 

He sinks to his knees amidst the glass. Then finally, finally, he cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wahoo count: 13
> 
> also for those of you not in the shadowhunters fandom, Ragnor was Magnus's absolute best lifelong friend, a warlock who took him in when he was a young man and has known him for all of the centuries that Magnus has been alive. 
> 
> Spoiler if you plan to watch the show: 
> 
> he does die in canon, so I'm not being entirely a dick


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are too good to me 😭💖

When Magnus was 26 years old, he lived for three years in the streets of Madrid, in Spain. 

The last few months of that time were not with Ana.

When Magnus showed up on Ragnor’s doorstep, rain-sodden and angry enough to be dangerous, Ragnor welcomed him into his life once again with no more objection than a single, teasing head shake. He bustled Magnus inside, sat him down, lit a healthy fire, and told him stories in a gentle, lilting voice. He talked and he talked as he stoked the fire that warmed through Magnus’s veins. Magnus could never recall any of the stories later, and Ragnor never told him them again. But his voice was soothing. Safe. 

_“You see, Magnus? No pain is borne alone. No story is lived in isolation.”_

But how can that still be true? Magnus is alone now. Truly, deeply alone, at least in this moment of grief, bent over on a dirty floor with his eyes squeezed tightly enough to see stars.

There are no stories about this. There is no story here. No beginning, middle, or end that he can travel through. There is only this. Emptiness. 

It takes him 15 minutes, 176 whole breaths, to realize that he left the children behind. 

He curses and then clenches a fist, feeling too late when glass bites into his palm. Stupid, stupid mistake. 

Not only are they alone, but he’d left them with a Shadowhunter. 

He rises to his feet, pulling in air and trying to regain his bearings. He owes them that much. They can’t see him like this. 

But he can’t leave Ragnor’s home like this, either. It’s only a matter of time before the vultures start circling. 

Summoning his strength and his magic-- which feels hollow now, in this space, without Ragnor’s magic here; it’s like a jar that’s been emptied and now feels too light, too spacious for just him. It’s the final proof, without a doubt, of the truth of what’s happened-- he blinks and claps at once, then raises his arms. In a moment, all of Ragnor’s belongings are gone. Safe, in a storage facility outside of the city. It’ll be their new home, for the time being, until Magnus can face them. 

He sighs. Takes a second to wipe his face. To heal, as best he can, the wounds on his hands and knees. To clean the blood. 

Then he looks around Ragnor’s home for the final time, thinks of another home in Madrid, so similar and so, so different, and jumps himself back to Griddy’s before he can change his mind.

The kids are still there. His eyes are drawn to them with a wild urgency, and when he sees them, his heart starts beating again. They’re still here. They’re safe. 

The Shadowhunter is here, too. He’s glamoured, sitting on the bench, watching the children with a nostalgic expression. When Magnus hits the ground, he looks over, seemingly unsurprised by the entrance. 

“I knew you’d come back,” he says. “They’re fine, they haven’t moved. It looks like they’re having fun.”

Before Magnus even realizes what’s happening, his hand is around Jace’s neck. “If you touched them...”

Jace’s eyes go wide, but his body goes limp. He doesn’t try to pry Magnus’s hands away. “I didn’t,” he whispers. “I swear that I didn’t.”

Magnus stares at him, searching his eyes, but sees nothing suspicious. He lets go. “I’m taking them home.”

Jace rubs his throat wearily. “I wouldn’t,” he says. “They don’t need to see you like this. Besides, I think they’re almost done.” 

Magnus’s fury at this boy’s presumptuousness almost shatters another light bulb. What does he know about anything? He’s a child, a stupid, shadowhunter child. 

But then Magus is hit, suddenly, with the expression on Jace’s face. With the way that he’d gone limp when threatened. The way that he watches the children, even now, with something akin to jealousy. 

_Trauma survivor? Or narcissist?_

Perhaps the shadowhunter does know something about this. 

And he’s right-- the children can’t see him like this. They shouldn’t have to. 

Magnus deflates. “I’m sorry,” he says. He forces himself to pull his hands behind his back. 

Jace watches the movement carefully. “It’s alright,” he says. “I guess I deserved it.”

“No,” Magnus sighs. “No, no you didn’t.”

He sits down next to Jace, and the two of them watch and listen in the half-darkness. The children are stuffing their faces with the last of their haul, tossing sprinkles at each other and giggling into napkins. 

At some point, Magnus pries his eyes away from the window and looks over, but Jace is gone. 

–

The children come home, exuberant and flushed. Magnus almost forgets that he’s supposed to still be in his office. 

He decides to sit on the couch instead. He wants them to know that he noticed their absence.

There’s a fair amount of shushing and laughing as they walk in, but less than before. Likely, they’re tired, and realizing how late they’ve been out. They stop when they see him, all of them swinging immediately to attention. The whole group lines up like bowling pins, just waiting be tossed. 

“Magnus,” Vanya says. He nods and clears his throat.

“You went to Griddy’s,” he says. “I’m guessing?” He’s forgotten how this was supposed to go. He had a whole plan, a whole scenario on how to greet them, how to ensure that they felt both chastised and congratulated. To wrap everything up nicely.

Now it’s all left hanging. 

Luther steps forward and nods. “We did. We were following the clue. But we should’ve come to get you. It’s my fault.”

“No it’s not,” Number Three says. She shoots a look at Magnus, and he tries to meet her eye. “It was all of our decision.” 

Magnus sighs, and scratches at a spot above his eyebrow. “That’s okay. I suppose it’s my fault; I didn’t tell you that you had to come to get me before leaving. Just… please don’t do it again, yes? This time is okay but next time there will be an appropriate punishment.”

The kids nod, hands clasped behind their backs. They stare at him warily, and he knows they don’t believe him. They’re still waiting for the blow to land. 

After a moment, Klaus pipes up. “Are we in trouble?” he asks. His new shirt is stretched down to his knees.

Magnus shakes his head. “No. You’re not. Did you have fun?”

Number Three steps forward again. “Yeah, we really did,” she says. Behind her, Ben nods. 

“I’m glad,” he says, and tries to smile. Tries to remember how he felt before his world cracked open. The pride, the victory. Family. “You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow. I think it’s time for bed, now, though.”

There are no objections. They still don’t believe him. There’s too much fear and suffering in this room; it’s a wonder that he doesn’t split right through the middle. They strip out of their winter clothes noiselessly, then shuffle off down the hallway to get ready for bed. 

Magnus reaches for his liquor cabinet. No, not yet. He’s got to say goodnight first. They can’t see him like this. 

–

Ben finds him three hours later, still in the spot on the couch, this time with four or five drinks in his system. He’s not drunk-- that would be irresponsible, given the nature of the children under his care-- but he’s taken the edge off of the sting, the loneliness. 

Ben comes padding into the hallway, a long blanket clutched in his hand rather like Lionel and a fiercely determined expression on his little face. 

Magnus startles, shoving his drink onto the table and out of the way. It’s only now that he realizes that the lamp isn’t on. 

“What’s up, tater tot?” he asks.

“Magnus?”

“I’m here, my dear.” He flicks the light on.

“I need to tell you something,” Ben says, “but you can’t tell anyone else, okay?” 

“What is it?” Magnus asks. He’s not sure how much more news that he can deal with, tonight. But Ben, gentle Ben, rarely confides in him. 

“Klaus pees the bed.” 

It’s not exactly what he was expecting. “I see.” 

“He won’t ever tell you, so I’m telling you.” There is a grim sort of fire behind Ben’s eyes, protective and stubborn, which lends credence to the seriousness in the posture of his tiny body. A surprising contrast from Ben’s usual, intentionally invisible demeanor. 

It might also already be the most that he’s ever said at once, directly to Magnus, since arriving in his home. 

“How long has this been happening for?”

“Since we were little. It doesn’t happen all the time, it’s mostly when he’s... stressed.”

Magnus chooses to bypass that part, for now. “What has he been doing with his soiled sheets all this time?”

Ben shrugs, wringing his blanket between his hands. It drapes to the ground, and Magnus tries to not to picture shattered glass. “What he always does. He washes the sheet in the sink with hand soap, then lays it flat under his bed during the night to dry, while he sleeps on a different sheet. He keeps on switching.”

“Switching? How did he acquire a second sheet?” There are plenty there in the linen cupboard, but Magnus is pretty certain that the shelf is too tall for the kids to reach without assistance, and nobody has asked him for anything. 

“It’s mine,” Ben says simply. 

Magnus raises his eyebrows. “That was very generous. To give yours to your brother.” 

“It’s not like I need the one in between me and my blanket.”

“Does anyone else know about this?”

Ben shrugs again. “It’s always been me. But I think Five may have figured it out because he always sees everything. And yesterday his sheet was on Klaus’s bed when we went to sleep. Which is not good because Five needs his sheet, because the blanket is too heavy for him.”

Magnus takes that in for a moment, searching for and choosing his words carefully. “Five doesn’t like his blanket?”

Ben just shrugs a third time. Magnus sets that aside as well, for now. 

He tries a different route. “It can’t be comfortable sleeping in soiled and damp sheets.” 

“Sometimes he gets rashes,” Ben admits. “Or smells bad. It’s usually okay unless we’re out of hand soap or Klaus forgets to dry it properly.” 

Magnus’s heart constricts. Has Klaus been sleeping in half-washed, damp sheets for weeks now? How often must he be creeping around in the middle of the night, trying to deal with this all by himself? And Magnus hasn’t noticed.

Magnus has already been failing, even before tonight. 

“Thank you for telling me, Ben.”

Ben hesitates. “They all don’t trust you yet. But I… I think that you can help us, maybe. You want to.”

Magnus stares at the amber filled glass on the table. “I’m going to try.” He takes a breath, then meets Ben’s eye again. “You seem to keep a lot of your siblings secrets,” he remarks carefully. 

Ben crosses his arms. “Some.”

“Don’t worry, you can keep the ones that I don’t need to know. You were wise to tell me about Klaus. I just wonder if maybe it’s hard to keep so many secrets like that all by yourself.” 

“I don’t mind.”

Magnus nods. “Fair enough. Just make sure that you know that you count, too, okay, my dear?” The words barely push past the bile in his mouth. They’re true, but he’s a hypocrite. Ben narrows his eyes.

“We’re not actually in trouble for tonight, are we?”

“No. You’re really not. No tricks or surprises or grudges. I promise.” 

Ben takes that in with a nod. He seems to relax, just slightly, and Magnus can’t help but mirror it. 

“You seem sad,” Ben points out. His gaze shifts carefully to the glass on the table, and to the tissues lying beside the couch, and then back to Magnus's face. The observance is almost depressing, for someone so young. He's a caretaker.

They have something in common. 

“I am,” Magnus tells him, after a moment’s deliberation. “But it’s not because of you or your siblings. I… I lost someone tonight, a dear friend of mine.”

“You didn’t tell us that,” Ben says. He sits on the couch next to Magnus and tosses one end of the blanket over his legs; the gesture makes tears prick behind Magnus’s eyes. 

“I guess I have some secrets too,” Magnus admits. 

“That’s okay,” Ben says. “You can keep yours, too.” 

Magnus ruffles his hair, unsure of which he feels stronger: the ache, or the awe of this blazing, kind-hearted child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all want me to drop some more spoiler hints or nah?
> 
> fun fact: this is the second chapter I ever wrote for this story!1


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shorter, lighter chapter, just because we all deserve it :)

Before Ben heads back to bed, he pauses, turning to face Magnus in the shadowy hallway. Magnus insisted that he take his blanket back and so it’s clutched in his hands again, tail thrown over his shoulder like a cape. 

“I told Miss Catarina what my powers are,” he says. 

Magnus smiles. “That’s lovely. I’m glad that you felt safe enough to confide in someone.”

He doesn’t have to ask how Cat reacted. She’s a nurse; Ben could tell her that a live chicken lived in his abdomen, or that he can pass gas at gale force winds, and she would keep her poker face. She was the perfect person to tell, really. 

Ben nods slowly, taking in the scene around Magnus once more. He seems to come to a decision. “You can ask her what it is, if you want.”

Magnus blinks, surprised. “Are you sure?” he asks. 

“I’m sure. Goodnight, Magnus.”

“Goodnight, Ben.”

It’s only later, when Magnus is sobbing into the phone, breaking the news to Cat that he’s been so afraid to speak aloud for fear of shattering something important, that he realizes what Ben’s permission really meant. 

He already knew that he had one child in his care more powerful than him; now, it seems, that he also has one who’s wiser. 

–

“Christmas,” Magnus declares the next morning, when the children are milling about in the living room. They all pause, putting down their various home-made weapons and toys, to regard him warily. Luther stops with the couch a few centimeters from the ground. 

“I think that we should celebrate it this year.”

He’s met with silence. By this point, the news that Magnus truly isn’t going to punish them for the diner trick should have been disseminated throughout the group, but they still don’t seem convinced. 

It dawns on him that none of the children asked about their reward for finishing the scavenger hunt; perhaps because they forgot about it in their fun, or perhaps because they’re trying not to push their luck. 

“Eventually, we can celebrate a variety of holidays to represent all of the traditions from where you children were born. But I thought that since Christmas is a holiday that a lot of mundane kids celebrate, and it’s coming up soon, that it could be a good one to start with. What do you think?”

There’s some glancing around at this; Klaus is already nodding. 

“All of you can think of one present that you might like to receive.”

“A lazer,” Diego mutters immediately. He seems surprised to have spoken. Magnus smiles. 

“No weapons, chickpea. But that’s a good start.”

“Price range?” Five asks, ever the pragmatist. The glint in his eyes seems to indicate that the answer will be crucial as to whether or not he deigns to participate in the festivities. 

“Mid-range. Nothing too extravagant but you’re always welcome to ask and I will let you know. No promises on results, but I’ll do my best. Likely there will be a couple of surprises as well, and who knows, maybe Santa Claus will visit.”

“Santa’s not real,” Diego counters. Number Three elbows him. 

“Shut up, dummy. Don’t be rude.”

“Well he isn’t,” Diego insists, arms crossed. He glares at Magnus with a challenge in his eyes. “Is he?”

Magnus shrugs, quirking an eyebrow. “Most people think magic and superpowers aren’t real, don’t they? Who knows.” 

Klaus looks vaguely mystified from his spot on the couch. “We should catch him!” he declares.

“He doesn’t come until you’re asleep,” Magnus chides, biting back a laugh. “Now, you can all think about what it is that you want--”

“I’d like a car battery,” Five interrupts. At Magnus’s bewildered pause, he heaves a sigh much too large for his small body. “Fine. Some textbooks on theoretical physics, then. I’ll write down the details.”

“Great,” Magnus says, still feeling a little off balance. He suspects that that was deliberate on Five’s part. “Anyone else already know? Don’t rush to a decision though, you have a few days.”

No answers. Magnus smiles again. “Alright. Let me know! Oh, and you’ll all have the option to send a letter to Santa, if you’d like. All of the letters will be in sealed, unlabeled envelopes. No one will read them and no one will know who participated or not. Does that seem fair? I have paper, pencils, and envelopes out on the kitchen table and I’ll leave them there over the next few days in case any of you would like to write something.”

“I’m gonna tell him to come while I’m still awake,” Klaus stage whispers. Vanya giggles. 

“I’m not sure that that’ll work, my dear, but I suppose it’s worth a shot. Now, it’s almost time for lunch,” Magnus notes, steering the conversation back into more serious waters, “and then my friend Catarina will be coming over for a visit with me in my office. In the meantime I’d like to speak with a few of you individually. There are… a couple of things that I’ve been neglecting, I now realize.” _More than a couple._

The words ripple through the group like a cold wind. Luther puts the couch down, rising to attention. Five freezes and whips his head around, no longer feigning inattention. 

Nobody moves. They stop breathing.

Magnus frowns. Do they still think that he’s planning to punish them? Individually? 

It’s clear that they’re afraid. Afraid, and ready for a fight.

“It’s just for a chat,” he says, feeling rather out of his depth. “Five, why don’t we start with you?”

Five stands immediately, moving to put his body in front of his siblings, fists clenched at his sides. There’s a sharpness to his body language that Magnus hasn’t seen since he brought them all to Luke’s restaurant on that first day. 

“Fine,” Five grits out through his teeth. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Ben says. “Magnus, do you need to speak with me too?”

“Yes, I’d like to,” Magnus answers. He hadn’t actually intended to, not this early, anyways, but it feels important to go along with whatever this is. “If that’s alright.”

Ben nods. “Then I’ll go first.”

Vanya grabs his arm. “No,” she hisses. “Not after what you told him.” 

Ben pulls his arm out of her grasp gently. “I’m going to prove that it’s fine,” he says. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?” 

He gives them all a reassuring glance. Five doesn’t take his eyes off of Magnus, threat clear in his stance. “Fifteen minutes,” Five says. Magnus has the feeling that he means it. 

– 

“You’re not going to make me show you it, are you?” Ben asks, as soon as they’re in the study. 

Magnus shakes his head, trying not to get to stuck on the word _it._ “Cat figured that it would be best if you told me about your powers yourself,” he says. “She did tell me that they aren’t dangerous, but that’s all.”

“They are dangerous,” Ben says quietly. He clutches his stomach, and Magnus is reminded, suddenly, of how he used to think of the child as ‘the boy with the stomach ache.’ 

“Why don’t you tell me, and then I’ll tell you what I think?” he nudges. 

Ben takes a deep breath. “They’re called the horror,” he says. “I don’t want to show you.”

“You don’t have to. You have my word.”

So Ben explains. 

– 

Fourteen and a half minutes later, Magnus walks back in to the living room with Ben, the interdimensional octopus monster who lives in his stomach, and a clearer idea of the children’s reason for fearing his conversation.

He also walks in to the smell of smoke. 

Five is holding matches. 

“Okay, Five,” he says, dragging a hand down his face. “I think it’s time that we have a chat about your hobbies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: it's my birthday today! and because it's my birthday I'm gonna take liberties here that I normally don't and remind y'all to please register to vote if there are any elections coming up in your area! (Canadians? where you at?) 
> 
> also consider joining the climate strikes happening Sept. 20-27? ok that's all
> 
> actually I lied, the last thing is please take care of yourselves bc you're all rad ok? thanks
> 
> I'll give more spoiler hints on the next chapter :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do NOT recommend taking three extra shifts at work and then getting sick
> 
> I do however recommend staying up until 3am with a sudden burst of energy to add a chapter to the story you haven't updated in 2 weeks 
> 
> love you all <3
> 
> new spoilers in the end notes, feel free to skip

“It wasn’t a hobby,” Five says, loudly enough for his siblings to hear from all the way down the hall. “It was a threat. One that I didn’t have to do because you came back in time.” 

He doesn’t sound particularly disappointed or relieved to have avoided lighting the place on fire. 

Number Five stands in front of Magnus’s desk, hands clasped together inside of hoodie sleeves at his waist. He’s so young-- as all of the children are-- and yet, he looks old here, old in a way that Magnus recognizes. Old in a way that Magnus himself has felt, since long before he was old in years.

Yet Five, out of all of the children, is perhaps uniquely the youngest in many ways. His recklessness and arrogance speaks of a youth that Magnus always strove to find as a young man, but could never quite capture. It’s significant. It’s also fragile. 

And dangerous. 

“Five, you’re welcome to have a seat,” Magnus indicates. There are three chairs in this room. Two on one side of the desk, one on the other. Magnus elects to sit in the one that allows him to be on an even plane with the child. There are no power imbalances here; none more than necessary, at least. 

“I prefer to stand,” Five says stiffly. Magnus nods in acquiescence. Five is eyeing the chair behind the desk, and Magnus almost offers it to him-- with some humour at the thought of his tiny frame sat behind the large slate of oak-- but then reconsiders. He remembers what Ben said about their father. How he used to test them. 

“Did Ben have a chance to explain to you why I invited you in here?” 

He’d left them together for a moment, before calling Five in. Long enough to put away the matches by hand; long enough for Ben to whisper something in Five’s ear, and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. Five had recoiled at the words but not, it seemed, at the touch. 

“To talk,” Five answers simply. 

“Did he explain what I will _not_ do?” 

Five rolls his eyes. “Hurt us or train us or test us.” 

_Do you believe him?_ It’s not a question that Magnus is owed an answer to, as much as he wants one.

Besides, the use of “us,” brings up his next point. 

“Are you worried about the safety of your siblings in this house?” he asks. 

Five bites his bottom lip for a moment, then seems to catch himself, releasing it with a grimace. He takes a breath. “Should I be?” he asks evenly.

“I don’t think so, no. But I’m not certain that you believe me.”

“I know you didn’t kill father,” Five says. It’s the first time that he’s brought it up since the night he brought Magnus coffee, and his posture softens; he looks genuinely regretful for the span of a blink, and then his expression empties again. 

If this were any other child, Magnus would’ve asked for an apology for that explosion stunt. But Five has already apologized more than once in the ways that he knows how. 

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean that you think I’m a safe and capable caretaker.” 

Five looks again at the large chair behind the desk. He doesn’t answer. 

“I want to… explain something to you,” Magnus tries. It should be odd, speaking up at a child who’s standing above him, but instead it’s familiar. Magnus Bane has never once knelt for any man, woman, or other adult. But he’s made himself small for every child that he’s ever met. “Something about myself. Maybe you can relate.”

After another lengthy silence, Magnus continues. “I would describe myself as a fighter. Do you know what I mean by that?” 

Five pulls at his black hoodie sleeves, and they fall further over his hands. “I know what a fighter is.”

“I fight for a lot of things. I fight for myself, and for what I want. For my beliefs. But mostly I fight for others. For my community, and the people that I love and care about.” 

Five nods. “Warlocks,” he says.

“Mostly,” Magnus agrees. “Not always. I’ve cared about a lot of people over my lifetime. And I don’t always fight with fists or magic, either. Sometimes I fight with my words. Sometimes I’m more clever, and I find other ways to protect my loved ones. In many ways, the quality makes me who I am, but it also makes me behave rashly sometimes.” 

His right hand still tingles. It had been around Jace’s throat, not all that long ago. He’d told himself then that he was fighting for someone else, perhaps too many people to count. But he’s never been a good liar.

Five’s eyebrows draw down. He opens his mouth and then closes it again, then disappears in a flash of blue.

“What-- Five?”

In another second he’s back, breathing a little heavier and with his sleeves pushed up to his wrists. 

“You behave rashly,” he says, with a lilt in his voice as if to say, _you may continue._

Magnus blinks, and then smiles. “Did you just look that word up in the dictionary?” 

Five’s eyes widen. He scowls. “No.”

“Alright. Well then I won’t say that I’m proud of you for your resourcefulness, and I won’t mention that you can always ask me what a word means if you don’t understand it.” 

“Fine,” Five agrees. 

“You also looked that word up in record time. That’s quite impressive.”

“Thanks,” Five mutters, before he realizes his mistake. He smiles, a little sharply. “But I didn’t look it up.”

“Of course not.”

There’s another, longer silence, punctuated by the background murmers of the other six children talking in the living room. Then Five says, awkwardly, “You think that I’m.. rash.”

“I think that you’re a fighter. You love a lot of people, Five. That makes you brave.”

“What’s the problem?”

Magnus presses his hand into the top of his leg, hard. “There’s no problem. _You_ are not a problem, pumpkin. Even when you make choices that aren’t wise. I just want you to be careful. This protective fire that we both have is a lovely, wonderful thing, but it can also be consuming. People like us have to work hard to reign it in, or sometimes we end up hurting the people that we love anyways, or hurting ourselves.” Tears are pricking at the edge of Magnus’s eyes and he closes them, trying to follow his own advice. “God knows that I’ve hurt enough people.” 

He’s also hurt himself more times than anyone else ever could, which is a hard number to beat. 

“Does that makes sense?” he asks.

Five is pointedly staring at his shoes. His expression is vacant, glassy, but he nods in reply. 

“No more fires,” he says. 

“Not none,” Magnus laughs wetly. “But maybe fewer. And not in the house. Now, Ben mentioned--” 

The phone rings loudly from it’s place on the desk. Magnus glances at the receiver, and then back at Five, who appears unbothered. “Are you okay to wait a moment while I answer this?” 

In response, Five plops himself down in the chair next to Magnus’s and then poofs out, popping back in with a book, still in a seated position. Magnus smiles and rounds the desk, and when he sits in the big chair to answer the phone, it feels like deja vu. 

Only this time, it’s not one of an endless list of downworlders on the other end of the phone. “Magnus?”

“Isabelle?” 

“You remember me, oh good. Magnus, I know that I shouldn’t be asking anything of you, but Alec-- you remember my brother Alec, the tall, broody one-- well, Jace has been telling me about you and--”

“Isabelle, slow down. What are you calling me for?” 

She takes a big breath, and lets it go in a rush. “You remember Alec, right? From the night you lost that little boy-- how is he?”

She’s asking, just like Jace had asked. With her, however, Magnus gets the sense that she’s not really interested in the answer. 

“He’s fine. Yes, I remember Alec. I do tend to remember the Shadowhunters that I come across unprompted. They are often threats, you understand.” 

He can practically hear her wince. “Right. Well, Jace told me that you might be able to help him.”

“How could I possibly be of service to a Shadowhunter?” 

Isabelle hesitates. “He’s talking about marrying a woman,” she blurts. 

Magnus grits his teeth. “Then send him my congratulations. Now, if that’s everything--”

“You don’t understand. Jace told me that you were... that you might understand Alec. He can’t marry a woman, Magnus.”

“And what is preventing him from marital bliss, exactly?” 

“It’s not that he can’t marry. It’s that he can’t marry... a _woman_.”

Oh. 

Right.

“He’s gay.”

There’s a heavy pause on the other end of the phone. Then Isabelle says. “Could you talk to him, maybe? I wouldn’t ask, but you’re the only person I know who might get through to him.”

“I barely know your brother.” 

“You know what he’s going through.”

_Do I?_ he wants to ask. He’s got little in common with a Shadowhunter. Less in common with a Lightwood, excluding a shared history of trying to murder one another. 

He can’t deny, however, the connection that threads through every person who’s been in this particular predicament, or a similar one. It binds them all together in some small but significant way, for better or for worse, as it has throughout all of history. 

He still fails to see how this particular thread is _his_ particular problem. 

“Listen, Isabelle. In case they haven’t informed you in the New York Institute, my people are preparing for war. Or worse. I don’t have time to ambush your brother at the alter and shove him out of the closet.”

“I know, I know. Just… talk to him, maybe? Please, Magnus. I’ll pay for your time. I really think that he needs this.” 

Magnus sighs, and grips the bridge of his nose. In his peripheral vision, Five glances up at him, then stares hurriedly back down at the book. 

What kind of example does he want to set for the children, here? One in which he forgoes yet another moment of his time and emotional labour for someone else? Or one in which he ignores the pleas of someone in need? 

Either way he loses. And he’s not bringing a Shadowhunter into his home. 

“Tell him that he’s welcome to call me. I don’t know how you acquired my private number, Isabelle Lightwood, but you’re free to pass it on to him. If he reaches out to me, then I will speak to him. If not, then I’m sorry, but I can not pursue this any further.” 

“Oh, Angel, thank you Magnus. Of course. That’s wonderful. I’ll tell him. I just-- I’m worried about him, you know? He’s always put Jace and I first… Anyways, thank you again. So much. And-- you’re not alone, just so you know, in fighting Valentine. We know about him. We’re fighting too. I know that that can’t be much comfort to you when it’s coming from a Shadowhunter, but I just wanted you to know. Stay safe, Magnus. The kids too. Say hi to Diego for me, please?” 

“I will. Goodbye.”

Magnus puts the phone in the receiver on autopilot, head spinning. He couldn’t have heard her wrong, could he? She said that they’re fighting Valentine-- whoever _they_ are. The Shadowhunters? The Institute? Isabelle and Alec? 

They know about Valentine. He’s here. It’s not just rumours anymore, he’s--

“We can fight, you know,” Five says. 

Magnus swallows. “What?”

“We can fight.” Five shrugs, examining the receiver far too shrewdly. “My siblings and I. That’s what we were born for. We can fight in your war.” 

“That’s not--” There are far too many things wrong with that sentence, but Magnus’s brain can’t quite catch a hold of any of them. Instead he puts a hand up. “You’re children. You shouldn’t have to fight for anything.”

“You said--”

The phone rings again, cutting Five off, who stops abruptly. Magnus picks it up in a daze. 

“Yes?”

“Magnus, it’s Cat. Valentine’s been spotted. The rumors are true. He’s back and he’s in New York.”

It takes a second longer than he’d like to get the words out. “I think the New York Institute may know about him as well.”

“What? Listen, I’ll portal over in an hour and pick up the kids. We can take them to--”

“Cat, keep your voice down. Five is in the office with me. What are you talking about?” 

“The children, Magnus. You can’t keep them there with you. Don’t tell me that you disagree.”

“I-- this is a lot to process.”

“I know, but you know how this goes. You’re putting them in danger too if you keep them in your home. Valentine will come after you, he always does. What happens if they’re there? It’s not a possibility. We need to get them to safety.”

“Which means… away from me.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Magnus.” 

“I can’t just-- you know about Vanya.”

“I know. She makes all of this more complicated. But that’s another reason why we can’t keep them with you. If you get distracted, or one of Valentine’s men comes for you, she’s not just in danger. She’s _a_ danger.”

“I need to--”

“I know. Think about it for a while, make your plans, explain it all to the kids. You have an hour, Magnus, and then I’m coming to get them.” 

Before he can respond, Catarina hangs up the phone. He’s left with the dial done, buzzing sharply in his ear. 

The dial tone, and one hour. One hour to figure everything out. 

“You’re not going to fight for us, are you?” Five asks.

Magnus doesn’t respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last spoilers were: jingle bells, accusations, ladybugs and chickpeas, wet sheets, truths revealed, valentines, and a much beloved cabbage.
> 
> this rounds spoilers: decisions are made that can't be undone, toy soldiers, reunions, new friends(?), letters sent, batter whisked, high heels, and a much beloved cabbage 
> 
> also for those who don't know, Valentine in the Shadowhunters world is like... The(tm) bad guy. He's a genocidal maniac that advocated for the murder of all downworlders in his youth and almost succeeded, and then was thought to be dead. Thought...
> 
> I've lost count of the wahoos. It's out of my hands, for now, and into the universe


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me reading all of your comments as soon as I see them, responding in my head, and then slowly descending into dumbassery the rest of the week because by the time I could actually sit down and answer them, my short term memory has expelled what I was planning to say, and now nothing sounds right, and then it's too late, and it's weird, and now none of them are answered as far as you're concerned even though my mind thinks I answered them all a week and a half ago. 
> 
> that said, I'm responding to them now. I love you folks<3 
> 
> this chapter is a rollercoaster. heads up for descriptions of violence and genocide.

For all that Magnus just described himself as a fighter, he’s not entirely sure that he knows what that means.

Or rather, he understands the _how,_ but not the why. The when. The for whom. 

When Magnus first moved to London, in the era of Oliver Twist, Downworlders were being rounded up and slaughtered in the thousands. Reports of missing people became so common that it was nearly impossible to follow them all up and many simply disappeared, presumed to be dead. 

For _sport,_ the Shadowhunters said. For fun. After all, wasn’t it their right? As superior beings born from the Angels, they took their liberties and the lives of Magnus’s kin. 

Decades later, they signed a piece of paper centuries in the making and nothing changed. The Accords became a convenient way to excuse murder, this time for _justice_ instead of entertainment. Never mind that the question of whose justice never made the table. It was easy, then, for Magnus to know who he was fighting for. He never had a choice. 

Why he was fighting became a little bit blurrier. He flip flopped, couldn’t make up his mind. It was easy to suggest that he was fighting for his people because he cared for them and couldn’t see them suffer; it was equally easy to believe that he fought for them because they fought for him, because he needed the herd to avoid becoming a target. 

To this day, he’s not sure which one was true. Perhaps both. 

Now he’s asking himself that question again, only with seven little faces lined in his mind. Does he do this for them, or for himself?

In any case, he knows the what this time. Or more pertinently, the where. 

He needs to bring them to the one place that Valentine won’t look for them.

–

Sludge falls from the sky, heavy and wet, as Magnus arrives outside the building. It looms above him, in size and in sentiment; he strides up the steps before he can recoil. 

The doors bang open easily. He knows the way in. He created these entryways, as much as their narratives would love to pretend otherwise. The magic is his.

“I need to see Isabelle Lightwood,” he announces, loudly and immediately and to no one in particular. What will inevitably happen next will happen one way or another, so he might as well be direct. 

An arrow is aimed at his forehead from someone across the room; he flicks it away with a brush of magic. People are shouting, rushing to join the commotion. He counts the glint of the drawn steles-- one, two, three. Such a reactive culture. 

Fortunately, there’s no time for any of this. 

“My name is Magnus Bane,” he tells them. “I’m here to see Isabelle Lightwood.”

The New York Institute, predictably, does not intend to welcome him with open arms. 

“State your business, Warlock,” a blond shadowhunter snarls. Magnus blinks at him slowly. 

“Are you confused about the identity of one of your own? I’m here to see Isabelle. Surely you must know her. Maryse’s kin?” 

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

Magnus quirks a lip up-- deliberately, intently. He straightens his jacket and sends a threatening glance to the stele drawn at the man’s hip. “I wasn’t aware that Shadowhunters were so nosy. My business is my own. Where is she?”

“Is she expecting you?” another Shadowhunter asks. He’s staring at Magnus with an expression that suggests that there’s no chance in hell that anyone is expecting him here. Magnus returns the disdain. 

“Ask her yourself and find out,” he replies. 

That seems to unsteady them. For all of their lovely characteristics-- the murdering and lying and the like-- communication is not one of their strong suits. 

He’s not going to wait around while they stare at each other. “I’ll find her myself.”

Three more arrows and four more steles join the mix as soon as Magnus takes a step forward. Someone pulls an alarm somewhere. Magnus laughs. 

Do none of this generation know their history? Were they not taught the name Magnus Bane? Decades of work and none of it allows him any courtesies. He shouldn’t be surprised-- still, it would sting a little, if not for the single-minded purpose with which he enters this cursed building. 

It’s funny, when they talk about adrenaline allowing mothers to lift cars off of their babies. Magnus never thought that he’d come back here again. 

“Magnus Bane?”

It takes a second of delay before he recognizes the voice. “Alexander Lightwood.”

“What are you doing here? Guys, it’s okay, weapons down. He’s an Institute guest.”

Alexander is taller than he remembers, an an imposing figure, authoritative even while his tone is friendly. It’s so different from the way he’d been in that alleyway, squeezing himself to the wall to avoid brushing shoulders with Magnus. Magnus assumed then that it was prejudice making the young man act that way. Now he knows another possible reason. 

“Yes please, I’ve rather not be billed for the expense of shredding all of your precious toys. It’s more costly than one would assume,” Magnus says. 

Alec’s nose wrinkles and he holds up a hand. “Right. I don’t need to know why you know that. Why are you here? Are the-- is everything okay?”

_Are the kids okay?_ Is that what he was intending to ask? 

“I need to speak with Isabelle,” Magnus repeats, for what feels like the hundredth time. All eyes are on Alec now, though he doesn’t seem to notice. He brushes a stray dark hair off of his forehead. 

“Uh, sure. She’s in the cafeteria right now. Why don’t-- why don’t I go grab her?” 

“Please. Quickly, would be lovely.” 

Alec nods. “One sec,” he says, hand still in the air, this time directed toward the Shadowhunters who are still staring at Magnus as though preparing to contain a bomb threat. Or pounce on a fawn. Alec hesitates for a moment, watching them all warily, looking as if he might say something else, and then disappears back into the far hallway.

–

“Magnus, what is it? Alec said it was urgent.”

“You know that favour you called me about? Well, it seems that I have one of my own to ask for.”

–

Catarina thinks that the plan is ridiculous at best. Magnus is inclined to agree. The children don’t ask what’s happening as he loads them all into yet another van-- because portals can be detected-- and hustles them to the New York Institute. 

Perhaps they don’t ask because they’re afraid. Perhaps because they trust Magnus enough to limit their protests. Either option feels like a sphere of iron in his gut. 

Isabelle has arranged a space for them. It’s an older section of the building, an addition in one of the very first reconstructions. It would seem that one of the Institutes many libraries has, in recent history, housed somewhat of a dirty secret: a traitor. The area, while technically still active, has become somewhat of a ghost town in the last week, according to Isabelle. The space behind it-- a series of back rooms woven inconspicuously into the fabric of the building, including a full kitchen and washroom along with overflow book shelves-- is where they’ll be setting up camp for the foreseeable. 

It’s not a home. It’s not even a haven. But it’s necessary. 

“I still don’t understand this,” Cat protests, as Magnus goes about reinforcing the complex web of wards around the room. “Why couldn’t we go to the spiral labyrinth? Or to another Warlock’s house? Honestly Magnus, even staying in your loft would’ve been a better choice than this.” 

“The spiral labyrinth will undoubtedly be the first place Valentine will look,” he tells her, half-paying attention. The wards are complicated, and he can’t get any of this wrong. Still, her use of ‘we’ settles some of the tension in his chest. “You were right, Cat, but even more so than you supposed. What chance is there really that Valentine won’t know about these children? They’re walking weapons, we know that. But we know the extent of their powers, as well. He doesn’t. I can’t imagine him turning down that opportunity,” 

“Okay, but why here? Of all the goddamn places, Magnus. You don’t think the Shadowhunters will use these kids too, if they find out about them staying here?”

“Because of these,” he answers, flicking a finger toward the wards. His magic lights up them blue and for a moment they’re visible, a pulsing spider web. “The most reliable wards in the continent, at least.” He hesitates, then adds, softly, “Ragnor created most of them.” 

Cat sighs. He spares a second to look at her; her hair is pulled back chaotically and her eyes are heavy. She sinks into one of armchairs against the wall and puts her head in her hands. 

She doesn’t argue with him, though. She won’t. Not about that. 

“What did the kids say?” she finally asks. 

“Nothing. I haven’t explained much to them, yet. There wasn’t time.”

“There wasn’t time, or you didn’t know how?” 

Magnus swallows down the dryness in his throat. “They’ll understand.”

“Will they? They’re being moved again. Do they even know why?”

Magnus pauses his work for a second to look at his hands. The polish is chipped, the whites bitten down the nub. “Five basically signed them up to be my own personal army.” 

Cat chuckles, though it sounds more like another sigh. “Don’t tell that me you let him.”

“No.” He smiles, then feels it drop. “I can’t let any of them near any more fighting. It’s not right. I-- yesterday I walked in on Luther and Klaus playing with toy soldiers in their spare hour. At first I thought it was great, you know? I mean, I’m not sure where they got them from, but they were playing-- that was the goal. But I’ve never heard anything like the way that they were playing, Cat. It was brutal. Klaus was happily tearing off all their heads and Luther’s laugh… they kept talking about them all burning to death. Or being tortured. Or.. they’re like kids that come from war. I just-- I can’t expose them to a real war right under their own roof. But that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Maybe,” Cat agrees. He turns away from the wall to find her staring at him, her eyes glistening. In all of their years of friendship he’s can count on one hand the number of times that she’s looked at him with this much fear. “But I don’t think you have a choice.” 

–

Magnus sets up a fort, just like the first night he took the kids home with him. Isabelle has managed to find and bring back a sleeping mat for each of them without detection, so he pools all of them into the middle of the floor and pushes all of the shelves and furniture to the side. Throws the sleeping bags on top. Then he sets to work moving chairs, dragging sheets, and finding lighting. 

He’s sweating and dizzy by the time that Cat finds him making a post for a sheet corner out of a pile of books. She puts a hand on his back. 

“You haven’t had lunch, and it’s nearly past dinner time. The kids are waiting for you in the kitchen. Isabelle cooked for them.” 

He’s about to tell her that he can’t face them, not yet, when the door kitchen door swings open anyways and Klaus comes tumbling out of it. The plate that he’s clutching goes flying into the air as he drops, food flinging with it, and Klaus squeals, covering his face with his arms as he lands on his butt. 

The plate doesn’t land on him. By the time that Magnus’s magic reaches it, it’s already changed trajectory, and swings quite violently toward the adjacent wall, shattering against it. All of the food-- a taco, by the looks of things, maybe more than one-- does land on Klaus and he sputters, peaking out through sauce-covered fingers as the shattering turns to silence. 

Magnus stares at Klaus. He stares at Magnus. 

The door pushes open further and three little faces peek out, one stacked on top of another, with Diego and Luther trying to shove through the rear. 

And then Vanya’s voice pipes up. “Did I do that?”

Everyone holds their breath. Magnus glances a the broken plate, and then at Number Seven. She’s looking at the shards like they’re a tap-dancing frog that she just pulled out of her sock. He’s inclined to agree. 

“It wasn’t me,” Cat says.

“Or me,” Magnus notes. 

“You saved my life!” Klaus exclaims.

“I think I did that!” Vanya says, breathlessly. “Moving the plate. How did I do that?”

“I like it here,” Klaus says. He licks a finger and then reaches for Ben’s hand, hoisting himself up to cheese-covered bare feet as Ben cringes. “Can I have another taco?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will probably be the least kid-centric chapter of the series. idk, I just go here
> 
> wahoo to you all


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back nananananananananana

Ben wakes up to the sound of crying three times that night. 

The first time is a little after midnight-- he can't see the clock from his mat but he knows that it is, as surely as he knows that Klaus cried that first night at Magnus's house at 2:40am, and that it's been 16 days and nights since then. He's always had a good sense of time. 

Sometimes he wonders if it's _them_ and not him that know, but there's hardly any difference, when it comes to stuff like that. 

Besides, why would they care? They live some place else, some other dimension or something, not here with them. Not properly. Well, that's what he likes to tell himself, anyways. 

He's just not sure, that's all. 

It takes a moment for Ben's awareness to kick in. Klaus's crying always wakes him up, but it happens so often that it doesn't startle him anymore. Not since they were children. 

It's dark in the room where they're sleeping. Magnus had put some night lights around but they're more shadow than light, like fire. Ben rolls over in his sleeping bag and makes a hushing noise toward his brother. 

"Number Four? Are you okay? I'm coming over."

Klaus whimpers and shoves his face further into his pillow. Next to him, Luther stirs, but doesn't wake up. Diego murmers in his sleep and Allison sighs. If any of his siblings are awake, they're pretty good at pretending otherwise and ignoring this. 

"What's wrong this time? Are there ghosts?"

Klaus pulls his mouth an inch away from the pillow. "Everywhere."

"More than at Magnus's house?" 

Klaus nods. 

"Did you... is the bed wet?"

There's another muffled whimper, and then Klaus nods again. He's curled around the edges of his mattress like a little comma, and Ben sees it now, the dark stain in the centre of the mat. His stomach stirs. _They_ stir. They don't like the smell of pee. Ben can't blame them. 

"It's okay, Klaus, we can just wake up Magnus, okay? He can help." 

Klaus lifts his head and sits himself up as best he can, avoiding the wet spot in the middle. His hair pokes out in every direction, wet near his forehead from his tears. He shakes his head, eyes wide. 

"I don't-- what if he's mad? I wrecked the bed. They aren't even ours. Now the Shadowhunters will definitely know that we're here!" 

"Sh, it's okay. He won't be mad. I'm gonna get him, okay?" 

"Okay." The word comes out on a tremble. 

Ben steps over his brothers gingerly and then leans down to wake Magnus up. But then he stops. Magnus looks so different in his sleep, even tonight, when he's fallen asleep in his clothes and make-up. He's tenser, somehow. Like a slinky; during the days he pulls and stretches himself tight for them, and during the nights he can collapse and press together. Neither state is very happy. 

Ben's not sure how--

"Six? What is it, love?" Magnus voice is scratchy and slurred as he blinks his eyes open. They're cat-like and too bright for a moment before he blinks them back to normal, and Ben flinches, before he can stop himself. Magnus doesn't seem to notice. 

"It's-- uhm, it's Number Four. Klaus. Remember what I told you? He-- it happened again."

"He wet the bed?" 

"Yeah. Can you help?" 

"Of course, tater tot." Magnus stretches his spine up up up and he even looks like a slinky uncoiling itself. He gives Ben a soft smile that seems a bit forced. Then he quietly calls, "Little goose?"

Klaus sniffles from the mat and ducks his head, red climbing up his cheeks and neck. "I'm sorry, Magnus."

"It's alright, my dear. Nothing to worry about."

"I should've been able to stop it."

Magnus crouches down once he's picked his way over to Klaus's spot, and stares at him earnestly. Then he slowly reaches up to brush a damp strand of hair out of Klaus's eye. Klaus flinches, and this time Magnus notices. He drops his hand. 

Something in Ben's stomach roils again. 

"You don't have any control over what your body does when you're sleeping," Magnus whispers. "It's nothing to feel guilty about, either." 

He snaps his fingers and hands Klaus a bright green hankerchief. Klaus wipes the snot from his nose shakily. 

"Actually, it's my fault. I should've r--" he shoots a look at Ben, who quickly shakes his head. "I should've thought that this might happen with one of you. Here, let me clean it up with some magic, and then tomorrow we'll get you a bed cover too."

"Not a diaper?" Klaus asks.

"Not a diaper. Not unless you ever wanted one."

"I don't."

"That's settled then. Here," he snaps again, and the stain seems to withdraw. Ben doesn't want to know where it goes to. _They_ seem a little bit happier now though, that the smell is gone, so that's nice. "All better. Do you think that you can go back to sleep?"

"Maybe." Klaus doesn't mention the ghosts, so Ben doesn't either.

"What abot you, tater tot?" Magnus asks. 

"Sure," Ben lies. Most of the time he has no trouble going back to sleep, unless he's scared about something the next day, but tonight his stomach hurts. They're really mad about something. Or... worried? His gut is tight and they probably won't settle down for a while, but there's nothing that Magnus or anyone else can do about that. 

"Alright. I'll go to sleep too, then," Magnus lies back. 

\---

The second time is only a few hours after the first, less than an hour after he finally falls asleep again. He sits up immediately, cringing at the pain in his abdomen, and prepares to offer a few comforting words to distract Klaus from the ghosts. But it's not him that's crying.

It's Vanya. 

Her sobs are coming out in little hiccuping noises. When she hears Ben stir, she goes quiet. 

Then, "Six?"

"I'm awake. Why are you crying?" 

"I-- sorry, I'll stop."

"It's okay." Ben shuffles on his bum closer to his sister, still in his sleeping bag so that he can slide across the floor. He parks next to her shadowy figure; she's already sitting up, too. 

"Did I wake you up?" she whispers. 

Ben considers telling her the truth, and decides against it. He doesn't want to make her feel bad. "No. I woke up on my own." 

She squints at him for a second, but doesn't argue. "I'm sorry. Do you want to go back to sleep?"

This time he doesn't have to lie. "No."

"Is it your tummy? It seems like-- I don't know. Sometimes it hurt you, right?"

"It's the monsters. They get... loud. I don't know what to do to make them be quiet."

Vanya nods, like what he said makes sense. "Sometimes the voices in my head are really loud," she says quietly. She hugs her knees into her chest, and Ben does the same. "Is that weird?"

"I don't think so."

"I'm scared, Ben." It might be the first time that she's ever called him by that name. 

"Me too."

"Are we gonna die?"

"I don't know."

"Are we gonna have to--"

"I don't know."

\--

The third time that Ben wakes up, he's the one who's crying. 

He doesn't want to think about that, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be happier, and hopefully sooner :) 
> 
> <3 love y'all


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEET I"m back! I'm so sorry for the unexpected mini-hiatus and that updating has been so irregular lately.:( I've had a bit of a rough time at work and personally the last little bit so while these chapters have been begging to be written, I've been putting it off. But I've in NO way lessened my love for this story. This is my baby. These are my children. Y'all are the bestest.
> 
> please ignore the fact that this chapter is a little bit messy... I just wanted to get it out there.

Magnus rolls awake slowly sometime after dawn. There will be no alarms this morning; routine seems rather superfluous, now. All of the goal-posts have shifted. 

He half-yawns, half-sighs as he carefully lifts himself out of his sleeping bag, making sure to be as silent as possible. It's dim, and Magnus can see quite clearly, but it _feels_ almost too black in this little back room; the night lights are the only source of illumination. The kids are scattered around him, tucked into their sleeping bags and breathing softly. It's quiet, a gentle kind of quiet that lends itself to whispered conversations and warm hugs. 

Despite the ambiance, however, there’s a lingering sense of… wrongness. To be awake like this. It's as though the world should have stopped turning when they arrived in this place, or perhaps it's as though the world _did_ stop moving when Magnus first took these children in, and it’s only now that he's noticing it. 

Regardless, the show must go on. He walks with magically padded steps toward the kitchen and begins the process of assembling and preparing the coffee maker, resolutely ignoring the niggling need to check the children’s breathing again or to re-examine the wards. 

He once promised himself that in the absence of an emergency, coffee would always come first. 

It’s almost hysterical, how quickly the definition of an emergency can become meaningless. 

“I still can’t believe that you died on me,” Magnus whispers. And it's ridiculous, because he knows that his friend isn't listening, but that's never stopped him before and it can't seem to stop him now either. “You weren’t supposed to die first, Ragnor. What—“

The sound of footsteps promptly has him catching the words back in with his breath. Number Three pads into the kitchen, pajama bottoms stuffed into pink fuzzy socks, which cushion her feet on the cool tile floor. 

Magnus smiles at her.

"Good morning, ladybug. You're up awfully early." 

She brushes a messy curl back off of her face-- Catarina has offered a few different times to show her how best to take care of her hair or to style it for her, which she’s ardently refused each time-- and offers a half-shrug in response. "It's not that early."

Magnus hums. "I suppose not. Do you want some breakfast?"

Three nods, rounding the counter to sit heavily on one of the stools. 

"I'm making home fries and some fruit, how's that sound?"

"Fine."

Magnus nods to himself and turns to the stove, grabbing the potatoes and a spatula and telling himself to relax. It’s silly; he shouldn’t feel so stymied by the idea of conversation with her. Number Three has been in his home for weeks, and yet, when faced with her directly like this, alone, it feels as though his footing is still off-balance.

"Magnus?"

"Yes, love?"

"May I have some coffee?"

He blinks. "I-- have you ever drank coffee before?"

She looks at her hands, lips twisted with a mixture of self-consciousness and defiance. "Not yet."

"Maybe we'll give it a few more years, hmm?" He cuts the potatoes into rectangles swiftly and drops them in the pot.

She nods with exaggerated resignation, and sweeps another strand of hair out of her eye. One of her legs creeps up onto the stool and she hugs it to her chest. "What were you talking about earlier?” 

There’s a heart-stuttering moment when he thinks that she means _just now,_ out loud, to Ragnor, and that she’s somehow heard him and he’ll have to explain—but then she clarifies. “To Klaus and Ben, last night."

He’s midway through chopping the next potato when he realizes he hasn’t turned the heat on yet. He flicks it on before he speaks. "Nothing, really. Klaus had just had... an issue, that I was assisting with."

"He pees the bed, you know."

"Yes,” Magnus responds carefully. 

"You're not going to punish him for that?"

“He doesn’t have control over that, lady bug,” he tells her, finally pausing to face her properly. She examines his face for a moment, then huffs. 

"I know what I want for Christmas," she declares, undeterred by the complete change in subject. 

It takes _him_ a moment longer to catch up. Truthfully, it takes him a moment to remember what it is that she’s referencing. He had forgotten about that Christmas conversation entirely, even though it was only yesterday that he’d decided on celebrating the holiday.

Yesterday. A whole different universe. Might as well be. 

"What?" he asks, carefully. 

"An audition." Number Three crosses her arms. "For a TV show…"

"An--”

"They aren't even expensive!" she blurts, clearly trying to get ahead of protests that Magnus hasn't even formed yet. "Not like Five's books."

"Okay," he says slowly, processing, "but Three, it’s not all about price. There are--"

"You're the one who said that I should have more fun stuff to do that’s mine," she accuses. 

"Yes," he agrees-- he really has to stop giving advice-- "but I meant... within the home. Nothing overwh--"

She narrows her eyes at him, and there's a moment where it feels like all of the air is sucked out of the room. Magnus cuts himself off mid-word, gasping slightly.

“I could rumour you, you know," she says. "To let me do it. To let me do anything."

_Shit._ Something sinks in his stomach, down down down. He swallows past a lump in his throat and raises his fist up just slightly, unnoticeably, at his side; a silent protest toward Ragnor for leaving him alone with this, a _'see, you stupid old man, I'm not equipped for this at all.'_ Not that that'll help anything now. Number Three raises her chin at him, stubborn, calm, but her hand is shaking just a little under the table. 

"It wouldn't work with my magic protecting me, you know that," he says. His gaze flickers back down to her hands and she follows his eye line and then frowns, before calmly folding them into her lap. "Besides, I—“ he’s not had enough coffee to approach this subject, doesn’t want to hurt her more, or make her feel guilty for something that has never been her fault—“I’m not sure that you would feel very good about doing that, love."

“You don’t know--" she starts, then trails off, biting down on her lip. She regards him for a moment quietly. Then, as abruptly as her focus had slid into place, it dissipates. She slides off the stool with a muffled thump. “I knew you’d say no. Fine. Is Cat coming over today?” 

It takes two whole cycles of breath before he can answer her. His first instinct is to say yes—actually, his first instinct is to apologize, for that wreck of a conversation, for disappointing her, but he shoves that down hard—but he considers.

He really has forgotten about his promise for Christmas. 

More importantly, that oversight is indicative of the way things that are heading if he doesn’t allow these kids to be kids for a while, amidst all this chaos. 

So... perhaps there’s an option other than Catarina for their day plan.

“Actually,” he says, “I think someone else may be coming over.”

\--

"Who's Elliot? Is he a warlock too?" Klaus asks. He shoves a handful of burnt potato into his mouth messily and chews it far too fast. “Is he nice?”

Magnus picks up one of the plates with his magic, letting it drift into his hand, which he knows the kids are enthralled by. "Yes, they are a warlock. Elliot is one of my oldest friends."

"Why are they coming here?" Ben asks, eating his potatoes with much more delicacy. 

Magnus can’t help a little bit of a grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. "It’s come to my attention that I've already neglected my enthusiasm for the holiday spirit." He tries to catch Three’s eye, but she resolutely will not meet it. "And Elliot is... particularly relevant, in that matter. And what’s better than homemade cookies in December?” he adds to the group. 

“Cookies?” Vanya says. “Like Christmas ones?”

“Aren't those the ones that are shaped like socks?” Klaus asks.

“Stockings,” Luther corrects. “I think that’s their name. Right, Magnus?”

“Yes, that’s the name. They can be shaped like whatever you’d like. Elliot is very talented in baking-related magic.”

Diego rolls his eyes. “Lots of people are good at baking,” he mumbles. 

There's something familiar in the way Diego is looking at his hands, something off, so Magnus holds back on a teasing retort. Instead says simply, "Yes, of course." 

Then, clapping his hands together, "Come along now all of you, this will be fun!"

\--

Elliot was… not enthused, to say the least, when Magnus had called with the request. But a few quick reminders of favours that Magnus never called in (and Elliot’s secretly giant heart) and they were on board. 

Now, though, it looks as if they're not just _on_ board, but _over_ board. Entirely _off_ the goddamn board. They're havng, frankly, way too much fun with this. 

But Magnus can't complain. 

Because the kids are, too.

Vanya's enormous, delightfully tacky, neon green elf hat slides over her eyes for what must be the thirteenth time and she giggles, flailing her arms out and screeching delightly when she immediately bumps right into the bag of flour and knocks some of it straight up into her nose. 

This results in her sneezing about a half dozen times in quick succession, and each time, Luther shouts "not in the cookies!" over and over until everyone in the kitchen is laughing, even Diego. Even Magnus. 

(Klaus's hat, for his part, barely sits on top of his increasingly unruly mop of curls. It's fallen off his his head a fair few times now, dangerously close to icing or batter, and each time, Ben catches it with the straight-faced reflexes of a father waking from sleep to catch their tumbling baby midair. No one else seems to think that it's odd, so Magnus doesn't comment).

Elliot, too, is smiling more than Magnus has seen in decades. They'd even barked a short laugh, earlier, when Diego had frisbeed a perfectly-aimed forgotten gingerbread cookie into the oven right as Elliot was closing it. Magnus isn't sure that he's ever heard it before today; Diego had been delighted. 

It all seems too good to be true. Like a dream. The tinkling Christmas music in the background, the wafting smell of warm, fresh cookies, the flour dust on seven little aprons... 

It's a life that Magnus doesn't get to have. 

He knows that, with a surety that digs straight into his marrow. It's the foundation on which he's built his entire life. Magnus doesn't get to have moments like these, he simply doesn't. 

And yet.

He's not a fool. They're still in the Institute. He hasn't forgotten _why,_ or what he's risking by allowing all of this. He hasn't forgotten the weight that's rested on his shoulders from the very first second that he'd spotted that dust on the road and thrown his coffee into the snow. 

_And yet._ That's the phrase that keeps sticking in Magnus's mind. The two words that keep coming back, building as the afternoon progresses from a whisper to a near-deafening shout. When Three giggles as she smears blue sprinkles onto the bottom half of her gingerbread man and he knows, he just _knows,_ that they're meant to be jeans. When Luther's stance relaxes for a half a second as he forgets that he's carrying a weight, too, and he actually lets himself smile long enough to reach his eyes. When Five teleports right behind Magnus and dumps a pile of flour on his head, grinning all the while, and Klaus shouts "food fight!" with all of the healthy enthusiasm of a mischevous child. 

Magnus doesn't get to have this. Magnus doesn't get to make cookie dough snowballs and sing off-key to children's Christmas songs. Magnus doesn't get to have icing gently booped on his nose by a child who's held more knives than sweets. Magnus doesn't get to _see_ seven tiny, fragile humans trusting, gigglng, _relaxing,_ and know that he had a hand in it. 

He doesn't. 

And yet. 

And yet, and yet, and yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elliot's the real MVP. 
> 
> let me know what y'all are thinking <3


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna hold off on this and wait until it was a longer chapter because this scene and the next kind of go together, but the next is one that I'm obsessing over perfecting a little bit so we're just gonna publish this one now. But that means that the next one is partially written so hopefully it'll be a quicker update :) I am getting to a point soon though where I lost some work that was on my old computer that broke, so those parts might be a bit slower, just because it sucks writing something twice, especially something you wrote in the early days of a story where everything comes out effortlessly 
> 
> Anyways, have this :) those of y'all who are in it for Malec... you'll be fed a teeny bit :)

Smoke fills Magnus's lungs as he inhales--once, and then again-- before releasing it steadily.

He flicks some ash off of the tip of the cigarette and the familiar motion settles his nerves. Magnus has spent many a decade of his life with a cigarette in his hands, and despite beng a little out of practice-- and the pervasive sense of guilt that plagues him, for comng back to a habit that he knows is foolish-- it feels like an extension of himself. Much like his magic. Or a well-used weapon. Easy.

Not many things have come easy to him lately. 

He stifles a cough with his fist, shivering. The stars have already been out for hours, but he can't see many of them even with his sharper eyes. It's too bright in this part of the city. Instead he settles for watching the tendrils of smoke drifting upward, imagining a warm fire-place snaking smoke up a stone-crafted chimney and certainly _not_ imagining anything more sinister than that. 

Like the fire that almost killed Catarina. Or the fire that took Elliot's eldest brother. Or the fire that--

He won't go there. That's not what he's here to think about. 

He inhales again and this time he holds it, lets it sit right in that moment at the top of a breath. He closes his eyes. 

Her face doesn't spring up easily behind his eyes anymore; he has to work for it, forming her piece by piece like a puzzle in a steamed up windowpane. Green eyes. Black hair. A gentle smile. Scales all down her throat, until-- 

_Someone is still thinking of you. I hope that you're in peace._

When he finally lets the breath go it comes out heavily, and he coughs aloud this time, cursing quietly to himself. The children are sensitive sleepers, and though they were passed out quite heavily when he crept away-- for the very first time, all of them sleeping heavily at once, worn out from the day they'd had-- he doesn't doubt that it would take less than a coughing fit through a sliding glass door to wake them.

He doesn't want to have to explain to them why he's out here. Or why he's smoking. 'Do as I say, not as I do' isn't really the parenting philosphy that he's ever imagined for himself. 

He'd needed to get out, just for a second. It was too stifling in there. Too _filled up_ with the smell of cookies and the warmth in his heart and the giddy energy that he still can't shake, even as he's meant to be honouring _her..._

So he's taken a moment. Just one. He's only a few steps away. The space is nearly enclosed, reminiscent of a balcony in a cheap city apartment, despite the fact that they're on ground level. Or perhaps the back area of a Parisian restaurant; the cobble stones certainly lend to that effect. But it's private. Away from watchful eyes. 

So he stands, and he inhales, and he shivers. And he tries to think about scales on throats that aren't yet slit, but ends up picturing sugar cookies shaped like socks and gingerbread houses three stories tall. 

"What do I do?" he whispers. 

But he doesn't get an answer. 

Something does prickle at the edge of his awareness, though, and for a wild half-second he thinks that he just might. But it's merely the wind rustling through the trees at the edge of the courtyard. There's meant to be a snow fall warning overnight. 

Which reminds him, he needs to get some more blankets from Isabelle. The kids won't complain, but sometimes get chilly and especially when it's--

Magnus freezes. 

Someone's behind him. 

No, two someone's. He can hear their breathing. 

His gut tells him to duck and he does, a split second before something whizzes over his head and cracks against the glass door. He whirls as he stands, orange magic already sparking from the edges of his fingertips. 

"I wouldn't try that again," he threatens in a low voice. 

The two men in front of him just blink at him, expressions blank. The one on the left-- a white man no older than thirty, with close-cropped hair and a scar by his right eye-- cracks a small smirk. 

"I wouldn't be giving us orders, Warlock," he drawls. The word 'warlock' comes out as a curse; it always does. "Especially when you're so far from home." 

A circle rune. One on each of their necks. Magnus huffs. 

"You two must be pretty far from home yourselves. Where is Valentine these days, hmm? In the bottom of a sewer somewhere, presumably."

The second man frowns, but the first one steps forward. "Don't talk shit, Magnus Bane." 

So they do know who he is. Lovely. 

"What exactly are you lovely gentlemen here for?" he asks carefully, flashing his eyes gold to distract from the fear that he can't quite keep off of his face. They don't recoil, but their lips do curl in disgust for a moment, and the second man glances away. 

"Isn't that obvious? We're here for your head," the first man responds casually, a grin spreading over his face, "attached to the body, or otherwise."

Magnus rolls his eyes, keeping his sigh of relief tight up in his chest. They're here for him. 

Only for him.

This he can handle. 

"In that case, I suppose that my welcome wasn't warm enough. Send my father my regards, will you?"

"Not so fast, Bane."

The second man makes some sort of hand signal, and a moment later three other circle members materialize out from behind the walls, steles in hand. One appears to be holding throwing stars. _Ahh, Fuck._

This is not how he'd planned to end the evening. 

"You can come with us willingly," the man with the scar says, stepping forward, "or you can-- what the hell was that?"

They all look to the glass door, and Magnus winces. The kids must be awake. Shit. Fuck. 

_Keep the lights off. Keep the lights off, and stay in your beds._

But they won't. Of course they won't. 

"Is there someone in there?" the one with throwing stars asks. She purses her lips at him, as though he's committed a social faux-pas by not warning her about his other guests. His heart is hammering too quickly to think of a suitable rebuttal. 

Instead he pastes a cocky grin on his face and steps forward, tilting his head to the side and flashing his eyes again, this time leaving them gold. "Just my hell-hounds," he lies, shrugging. "Surely you've heard of them? Cute little munchkins." He wrinkles his nose. "Not a fan of circle members, I'm afraid." 

They glance to the door again, uncertain. He's not selling this well enough. He needs a distraction. 

He doesn't have one. 

_Stay in your beds. Don't make a sound. Please. Please._

Because the problem is--

The problem is that he could take all of these circle members out in less than an instant, without even losing his goddamn breath. He could do it in a way that couldn't be seen from the courtyard so that no nosy Shadowhunters would come running. He could do it without thought, without remorse. 

But he can't do it in a way that the kids can't see. And he has no doubt that they're watching. 

Certainly, they know intellectually that Magnus is powerful; they know that he's a high warlock and that he's powerful enough to keep all of them in check. But all they've seen him do so far is defensive magic. Protecting, prohibiting. Not destroying. Not killing.

He can't-- 

Even if he forgoes the surge of magic that's crackling wildly at his fingertips and merely snaps the circle members' necks; even if he takes them down with fire that drops them on impact; even if he makes it quick...

Would the children recover from that? 

Does he have any other choice?

He's gearing up to send magic out somewhere, anywhere, to block their advancing weapons, when something whistles through the air--at the edge of his awareness-- and Magnus ducks again. 

Only he's not the target this time. 

The man with the scar goes down heavily, followed closely by the woman with the throwing stars. In rapid succession, too quickly to be human, all of the circle members drop with an arrow in their chests. Dead on impact. 

Magnus glances up to the right. 

"Who are-- _Alexander?_ "

The shadowhunter leaps smoothly down from an overhanging tree, landing cleanly next to Magnus. He's in full Shadowhunter gear, thick denim and leather and real combat boots, but his hair is mussed in a way that Magnus hasn't seen before. It looks nearly... casual. 

The bow and quiver are already glamoured.

"That's all of them," he says, not even a little bit winded. He dusts his hands off on his pants, eyes searching up to meet Magnus's. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I-- why are you here?"

Alec scratches at the back of his neck, cheeks dusting a little red. "I was uh, coming back from a walk," he explains, "and I heard your- heard the commotion. Then I saw the circle members behind the wall and put it together. So I scaled the tree."

So much for private. _How long was he there?._ "You didn't have to do that. I could have protected myself." 

He won't be condescended to, not by a Shadowhunter. 

He certainly won't be in their debt, just because one of their youth decided to play hero. 

"I know," Alec agrees easily, without a trace of doubt. If anything, he sounds vaguely self-conscious, as though he's embarrassed about stepping in. "Sorry, I just thought--" he sweeps his hand over toward the glass door, and Magnus's heart jumps. 

The kids. 

"Excuse me," he says curtly, turning away from Alec. He flings the door open, hands up and ready, just in case-- _just in case the circle members were lying, just in case they do know about the kids, just in case this was their real plan all along--_ blinking quickly to adjust to the increase in light. 

Seven little figures are standing a few feet from the door, staring up at him with wide eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) <3 wahoo for you


	24. Chapter 24

"What were you doing outside, anyways?" Alec asks. He snaps another tupperware shut and scooches sideways past Magnus, leaning down to find a spot for it in the fridge. "If that's... if that's okay to ask." 

It's not, but Magnus answers anyways, carefully scraping a cookie with a vague resemblance to Santa Claus off of a tray with a spatula. _Diego,_ he remembers with pride. "I was... reflecting. On the loss of a friend. It's the anniversary of her death."

The ninety-sixth anniversary, but Alec doesn't need that particular detail. 

"Oh," Alec says softly. He straightens up, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I'm sorry."

'I mourn a lot of losses, Alexander."

The calendar in Magnus's study is brimming with them, page numbers written carefully on each date, corresponding to a series of notebooks with names, available details, and--occasionally and more recently in history-- pictures. Almost every day has at least one; some days he mourns more than one person. Most days he mourns people that he can't even remember anymore, even with the notebook. 

Alec's frown deepens. "Right, of course." He clears his throat. "You're... very old?"

Magnus huffs, but can't help but crack a smile. "It's not polite to ask about a man's age," he chides. Alec ducks his head, eyes shining, and Magnus winks just for the hell of it; it's been a long night. "But yes, I suppose that you could say that." 

Of course, the implication of Alexander's question is based on ignorance-- the many losses that Magnus has experienced are in part due to the amount of time that he's been alive, but still have more to do with who he is rather than how long he's lived. That's not a conversation that he wants to have right here and right now, however, and especially not with Maryse Lightwood's eldest son. 

Maryse Lightwood's eldest son... who may be gay. 

That's another conversation that he's not looking forward to having. Though Alexander doesn't seem keen to broach the topic either. Perhaps Isabelle's meddling isn't what the young man needs or wants, and in the occasion that it is, what are the chances that he'd listen to a warlock? Magnus-- visually, culturally, in mannerism-- is about as opposite to the man in front of him as he can imagine. 

Although, Alexander had come to his aid, earlier. Not many Shadowhunters would have wasted their arrows. 

"It seems like you did a good job of talking them down," Alec offers, breaking their silence. He gestures a hand out toward the main room. "They seem calmer."

Magnus raises his eyebrows and follow's Alexander's gaze, to where Luther is still doing perimeter patrols, marching his little feet in perfect military rhythm, around and around the room. Klaus had thrown himself immediately into his sleeping bag and he's still there; a tiny green lump with only one fractionally open corner for air. 

"Well," Alec laughs, seeing Magnus's expression, "it's impressive that they had so many knives at the ready, at least."

Magnus shakes his head. When they'd walked in from outside, they'd been greeted with six different blades; Five had been holding three, Diego had two, and Magnus still isn't sure where Three had gotten hers from. "Of course a Shadowhunter would think that," Magnus says, exasperated. Alec makes a face and Magnus laughs. "They aren't supposed to have knives, Alexander! I'm not supposed to let children have knives!" 

"Do they know how to use them?" Alec asks, and it doesn't quite sound like a counterargument. It's a genuine question, but the small tilt of Alec's head lets Magnus know that it's still part of the teasing, if only because they're now entering waters where neither of them have any concept of a normal baseline. 

"Yes, they do, for the most part," Magnus answers, thinking of the rips in his couch but also of the way in which Diego had once used the handle of a blade thrown from his bed to turn off a light switch, "but... they're kids."

"Right," Alexander agrees uncertainly. "I guess I don't have much experience with that."

"Me neither," Magnus notes. Shadowhunter children have knives of their own; warlock children have equally dangerous ways of defending themselves.

Neither of them knows anything, really, about the knife-related rules mundane children with superpowers. 

It's not sad, because it's not supposed to be, but it does make the air a little heavy. They settle into a comfortable and self-aware silence, scraping cookies off of trays and packaging them, cleaning up icing and sprinkles, and placing bowls in the sink. Elliot had fucked off before any of the cleaning could be done, with an exaggerated and blatantly unremorseful wink at Magnus, and he'd been too grateful to ask them stay and help. 

(And the children had simply looked too happy and sleepy to be put on clean-up duty. Perhaps that's yet another parenting mistake, but Magnus can't make himself regret it). 

Alec breaks the silence again. "I... lied before," he says, eyes firmly on the bowl he's washing. "It wasn't a coincidence that I was walking by. I wanted to…" He takes a bracing breath. "I wanted to see you again."

The words would be shocking, if not for Magnus's earlier train of thought. Perhaps Alec does want to talk about his sexuality, after all. 

Still, Magnus is a little taken aback. "Why?" he asks.

Alec's mouth forms around the word 'um' and then he flounders, shaking his head. "I'm not sure," he says slowly. 

Magnus opens his mouth to respond-- thinking of how best to steer the conversation toward what Isabelle revealed-- when there's a knock on the door frame. 

"Magnus? Sir?" It's Luther, hovering nervously on the edge of the threshold. Magnus nods him in but he doesn't move, eyes flicking between the floor and Alec's stele and Magnus's face, unsure where to land. 

So Magnus tries again. "Come on in, bumblebee. We're just packaging up your lovely cookies. You remember Alec?" 

"Yes," Luther nods, but still won't look above Alec's knees. He shuffles a little bit closer to Magnus, hands re-clasping immediately at his waist. 

"What can I help you with?" Magnus prods, gently, when a moment passes and he doesn't speak. Luther blinks. 

"Can you--" he takes a breath, and brings his gaze up to look Magnus right in the eye. "We need to use our powers. To be safe."

"You can use your powers," Magnus says, confused. He shoots a look at Alec, whose head is down as he scrubs a dish, respectfully having bowed out of the conversation. "There are restrictions on a few things-- and I suppose Five and Three can't use theirs at all while we're here, but that _is_ to keep you all safe. Your powers are still fully available to you, One, as long as you aren't using them against your siblings or I." 

Luther hesitates for a moment, but then his eyes darken as he steels his resolve. "We can't train if we can't use them on each other," he asserts. "And if a bad guy breaks in... we need them all. Everyone but Seven." 

"Absolutely not," Magnus says, probably a bit too quickly. He tries to reframe. "I can keep you all safe. The wards will keep you safe. You have nothing to worry about, my love."

Luther's gaze flicks over to Alec again, and Magnus half-turns to look over his shoulder. The Shadowhunter's lips are twisted in a grimace, but he doesn't speak up or stop his scrubbing. Magnus clears his throat, and Luther looks back down at the ground. 

"Okay," he finally says, shoulders dropping. "Then... do I-- do I have any orders?"

Any _orders?_ Magnus stares at him, considering. It would be the right parenting move to say no, surely, but also... it might be the wrong one, for Luther. Magnus drops into a crouch. 

"No," he begins, and watches Luther's face fall, "but I would like you to take care of yourself tonight, and your siblings. All of them. And continue to come to me with anything that you think that you might need, alright? I'm very proud of what you just asked me. That was brave and responsible." 

Luther looks nearly uncomfortable under the praise, twitching and fidgeting uncharacteristically. He ducks his head as a red flush creeps up his neck. "Thank you," he says to his shoes. "I will." 

"Great, thank you, bumblebee. Is that everything?"

Luther nods, and turns to leave, then pauses. Magnus stifles a wave of sadness. "You may go," he adds, feeling gross at hearing those words in his own voice. But Luther won't leave without them. "You all should try to sleep, if you can. It's late. I'll come check on you in a few minutes, alright?"

As Luther leaves, Magnus turns back to Alec, who's frozen with the sponge raised in position, as though he's unaware that he's stopped washing. He looks up after a moment and Magnus catches his eye. 

"You were saying that--"

"I think you should let--"

They both speak at the same time, and Magnus cuts himself off. He gestures at Alec to go first. 

"I think--" Alec shakes his head, then begins washing again. "Nevermind. It's not my business." 

Alec doesn't seem confrontational about it, but the children really aren't his business, so Magnus lets him drop it and takes his chance to change the subject. "You were saying that you wanted to see me," he says. 

But it doesn't garner the reaction he was hoping for. Alec's lips tighten into a thin line as he rinses the sponge out and places it on the edge of the counter, knuckles white. He doesn't answer. 

So Magnus tests his luck. "Isabelle--" 

"I should go," Alec interrupts. "The dishes are done. I need to get back."

There's no room for debate in his voice, but Magnus tries one more time anyways, for Isabelle. "There's no reason to be ashamed, Alec." 

Alec's eyes flash. "I don't know what you're talking about," he grounds out, already on the way to the door. There's fear in his eyes. His jacket sleeves are still rolled up, and his hair is still messy, and his hands were just in a sink full of dishes that a Warlock touched. _Washing them._ Perhaps it's not just for Isabelle, that Magnus's heart sinks. 

"I heard that you're engaged," he says softly. "I wish you the best."

Alec stares at him for another moment, and it almost looks as though he might speak. But then he nods. 

And then he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo I have another question.. I'm starting to think that the number of chapters in this are getting a little out of hand-- it's actually making me somewhat embarrassed to post shorter chapters because I know it's just gonna keep wracking them up and I'm worried people will stop reading/not start reading if there's too many? not to mention that I literally have like, a gazillion more planned so this thing is just gonna keep growing. what do y'all think? are you put off of works with lots of short chapters? or do you like it better this way? lmk


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do I have the time to sit down and write a 2500 word chapter in the middle of the afternoon for multiple consecutive hours? barely
> 
> do I have the patience to wait and properly edit it and flesh it out so that it's not a literal first draft when I promptly shove it in all of y'all faces? absolutely not
> 
> sorry but I'm excited yeehaw

Magnus awakens to a cacophony of noise. 

His heart rate quickens slightly-- but it doesn’t alarm him, not really. The noise is loud, but not sharp; it’s a jumbled sea of voices and laughter and clinking. Briefly he wonders if there are hungover party guests still in his loft, and he rolls over, stretching himself out and resolving to go boot them out before breakfast. Or maybe he’ll offer them some waffles, first, if he likes them. Assuming that the guests he hosted can eat waffles. Funny that he doesn’t even remember the night before, but it wouldn’t be the first time...

But then he remembers where he is. 

He definitely had _not_ hosted a party last night in a backroom of the New York Institute. 

Not that that would be the first time either, mind you, but he certainly wouldn’t have now. 

Would he?

He sits up quickly, ears straining to try to pick out threads of voices, wondering why he still doesn’t feel particularly alarmed. A spell, maybe? A potion? Tranquilizer? The children are all out of their beds and nowhere to be seen. He pokes his head into the kitchen, which is empty too, and then throws the door to the library open, eyes unglamoured and ready for a fight if he finds one, but feeling, somehow, like he won’t. 

The wind gets knocked out of him.

His family. His people. They’re—they’re all _here._

“Wh-“

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Catarina says, sliding in beside him. Her voice is fond and her eyes are shining, and she’s got a drink in her hand, something sparkly and rich. Several nearby heads turn to look at him and a few Warlocks’ wink or smile in his direction before turning back to their respective party companions. 

Party. A party. A--

“What is this?” Magnus asks, realizing that he’s thrown his glamour up again as Cat places a dazzling blue hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t drop it, too confused for the moment to make a decision like that. She looks into his eyes and her smile widens, like she gets it. 

“You’re telling me that Magnus Bane doesn’t recognize a party when he sees one?”

“But why?”

Cat shrugs, taking a sip out of her glass. “Why not?” she counters. 

Magnus can think of about a _hundred_ reasons why not, and he’s just woken up, and is possibly under some kind of spell. Or perhaps he hasn’t woken up, and this is just a dream. A bizarre waking fantasy. His eyes search the room, skimming over familiar faces, looking for--

“Ragnor wouldn’t be caught dead here, even if he were alive,” Cat cuts in, and then adds, softly, “This isn’t a dream, Magnus. We’re here for you. And for him. For each other.”

Magnus swallows. “And the kids?” 

“For them too. Take a look.” She nods toward the middle of the library, where Magnus now sees that Five is seated, engaged in what looks like a fiercely competitive game of checkers with an elderly Warlock that Magnus doesn’t recognize. A quick scan of the room and he spots Three, Four, and Six seated on a rug, watching Misha bloom flowers out of thin air to weave each of them a bouquet. Diego is to his right, looking out of place and awkward at the snack table, surreptitiously trying to overhear a conversation between two young Warlocks who are, Magnus can tell even from here, speaking louder for his benefit. 

Even Seven is seated on the floor at the foot of a chair, smiling softly and privately as two Warlock hairdressers from Brooklyn fuss over her hair, braiding it into some kind of elaborate style with magic sparking between their fingers, their own hair reaching toward the ceiling, unmoored by gravity.

They’re all Warlocks, Magnus realizes belatedly. Every single one of them. 

“Luther?” he asks Cat. She shakes her head. 

“He’s on door duty. Insisted.” She inclines her head and Magnus turns to follow it, spotting Luther at the door to the Institute proper, rigid and on alert. He doesn’t look at all comforted by the balls of magic that float by periodically, illuminating the room with a soft, warm glow, watching them rather like they’re snakes that might turn around to bite hm. 

Magnus sighs. “He’s not...”

“I know,” Cat says. “Neither are you.” 

“How did you get me to sleep in, anyways?” Magnus asks, squinting at her suspiciously. She laughs. 

“Elliot may have sent a dash of sleeping magic into the room,” she confesses, grinning. She flicks a lock of pure white hair over her shoulder. “I told them not to, but actually, Ben insisted. Said you needed the sleep.”

Magnus’s heart constricts. “Thank you,” he tells her, genuinely. “Not Elliot, however. Them I’m going to kill.” 

“In front of your own child?” Cat shakes her head, and makes a tskng noise. “Bad example.”

“My child?” His eyes scan the room again, looking for Elliot’s distinctive clothing and listening for their laugh. At this type of party, the bold clothing that Elliot is prone to is not nearly as distinct, and neither are their horns. He finally finds them in the far corner, hands gesticulating in story, speaking to--

_“Raphael?”_

He’s across the room before he even hears Cat finish her laugh, hands reaching out for the vampire, who side-steps, passively and resignedly, into Magnus’s embrace, eyes not leaving Elliot. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Magnus informs Elliot over his shoulder, as he squeezes Raphael, mindful of wrinkling the younger man’s suit. “I can. I was alive when the Dead Sea—“

“Was just a lake that was feeling a little poorly,” Elliot and Raphael both finish for him. “We know,” Elliot adds. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Magnus grumbles. He steps out of Raphael’s space, scanning him up and down. He looks unharmed, if a bit tired. Dark circles line eyes that are nearly black, thick with fresh blood. At least he’s fed. Raphael bristles.

“I’m fine,” he says stiffly. “You don’t have to look at me like that.” 

“What are you doing here?” 

“This is a celebration of Ragnor’s life,” Elliot says, gesturing at Raphael with the hand that they’re not holding a drink in, “all of his family are welcome.” 

“In the New York Institute?” Magnus asks, raising his eyebrows at his friend. Elliot’s smile drops a little. 

“We go where you go,” they explain, shrugging. Then they brighten again. “Besides, it was fun making it all work. None of us can resist pulling off something like this under the Shadowhunters’ noses.” 

Magnus has got a lot of questions about _how,_ exactly, they’re doing that, and why, but Elliot slides away before he can ask, pointing at the snack table over their shoulder and making a bewildered face, like they’re being called away. Magnus huffs. 

But when he turns to Raphael, his expression softens. Raphael is watching him closely, biting his lip, shoulders back too stiffly, too deliberately. Magnus squeezes his arm. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t call, when I found out...” Magnus starts, and Raphael shakes his head. 

“I understand,” he says. “I just can’t believe... how are you doing with everything?” His gaze is half-heartedly shrewd. This time it’s Magnus’s turn to shake his head. 

“I’m fine,” he says, “I just missed you. Come here.” He pulls Raphael forward again and this time Raphael hugs him back, face against Magnus’s chest, relaxing into his arms with an exhale. 

“I miss him, papá,” Raphael whispers, too quietly for anyone to overhear. Magnus squeezes him harder, throat tight. He knows. God, he knows.

“It’s okay, mi hijo. He loved you so much.” 

Raphael takes one more shuddering inhale and then steps back, squaring his jaw. “How are you feeling?” he demands. “Tell me honestly.” 

Honestly? Magnus feels… wrung out. Exhausted. A grief lingers behind this wall he’s built, so strong that it could kill him, if he let it. But he can’t. Even if he wanted to.

But Raphael knows all of that, so he skips over it. “I’m grateful that everyone is here,” he says genuinely. “The kids look happy.”

Raphael nods. “I don’t suppose that I’ll ever get to meet them?” he asks casually. Magnus blinks, surprised.

“I didn’t think you’d want to.” 

“I don’t, really,” Raphael admits, nose wrinkled. “But..” he waffles, an unspoken _they’re important to you_ in his eyes. Magnus’s neck warms. 

“I’ve raised you well,” he teases. Then, “Come on.”

\--

The party is clearly in full swing as they weave through it, glasses in nearly everyone’s hands and chatter rising and falling. Magnus hadn’t been cognizant to pay attention before but now he notices the way in which each guest carefully avoids paying him too much attention; it’s as though they’ve all agreed to leave him be. Or perhaps they just know him that well. 

He can’t say that he isn’t grateful. 

He and Raphael pick their way over to the door where Luther is standing; all of the bookshelves have been magically moved aside, so it’s a clear, open space, but there’s a lot of them packed in there. They walk through a sea of exposed Warlock marks— claws and horns and scales and tails and wings and segmented abdomens like an insect. The music that he’s been hearing in the background, soft and tinkering, is coming from someone’s stomach which has strings like a harp. Raphael catches him looking, and nudges his arm. 

“Your eyes are still covered,” he notes, a questioning lilt ticking up the end, but it’s mild. He won’t pry.

Magnus nudges him back, glancing around at the sheer volume of Downworlders in the room. “We’re sitting ducks, here,” he points out. 

“We can’t live our lives in fear.”

_Can’t we?_

It occurs to Magnus, too late, that introducing Raphael and the children is just another way of weaving their lives together in a way that will be difficult to separate later. He’s creating more bonds for them. He’s treating the children like _his_ children, in the same manner that he considers Raphael one of his own. 

One look at Raphael’s ear-splitting smile when they reach Luther suggests that that’s exactly why he’d asked. 

“L-Number One, this is Raphael. He’s my... friend.”

Raphael shoots him a comically indignant scowl at “friend” and then turns himself back to Luther, dropping gracefully into a crouch. 

“Hello, Number One,” he says, offering his hand. 

Luther stares at it reluctantly before taking it. “Hello.” 

He’s wearing one of his new dress shirts tucked into his jeans; it would be adorably professional-looking, if he weren’t trying so hard not to shrink into himself. His blond hair is getting longer, no longer a close, military-style crop, and it softens his face significantly. Magnus wonders if he likes it better that way, or if he’s ever been allowed an opinion. 

He also takes that moment to realize that _he’s_ actually still wearing his pajamas—silken black floral bottoms and a black flowy t-shirt. Wonderful. 

“You’re taking good care of the door,” Raphael tells Luther, smiling earnestly. Luther straightens a smidgen. 

“Thank you.” 

“Have you decided what you want for Christmas?” Magnus asks, figuring that it might be an easy icebreaker. Luther ducks his head sullenly, a crimson blush snaking up his cheeks. 

“No, sir.”

“It’s just Magnus, remember? You don’t have to call me sir.”

“I like it,” Raphael chimes in, a sending a mischievous look at Magnus. “Very respectable.”

Magnus rolls his eyes. “Trust my own children to gang up on me.” _Oh, he shouldn’t have said that._

“What do you like?” Raphael asks hurriedly, still in a crouch. “Movies, music?” He glances back at Magnus. “What do mundane children _do?_ ” 

Magnus makes a _beats me_ face, arms floundering, as Luther says “I.. I like music.” 

“Really?” The question is out before he can stop it, relief mingled with urgency in his voice. He’s never heard Luther express active interest in anything normal before. “What kind of music?” 

“I don’t know.” Luther shuffles uncomfortably. “We aren’t really supposed to listen to it.”

“That’s fine,” he assures him, letting any protests die in his throat. Music he can work with. Music is a start. 

He looks at Raphael as he stands up, gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you,” he mouths. Raphael nods. 

_My own children.._

Fuck. 

\--

They find Diego in the kitchen, seated at the counter squished in between two Warlock children who are chattering away at him excitedly as he half-listens, unperturbed. A stack of blank paper and envelopes sits in the middle of the table and Diego’s got a paper in front of him that he’s scribbling on, tongue out in concentration. When he sees Magnus he flushes and drops the pencil, folding the paper sloppily in his hands. 

“How nice of you to help those other children with their letters to Santa, Diego,” Magnus says loudly, perhaps a little obviously. But Diego instantly relaxes. He nods, pulling the paper back out and half turning to one of the children, as if prepared to dictate. The girl frowns at him, her bright pink claws clacking in his face animatedly as she moves on to some point in other story, and Diego continues writing. 

Magnus and Raphael both pretend that they don’t see the little ‘from, Number Two (Diego)’ that’s already written in careful, looping hand-writing at the bottom of the page. 

Raphael can meet him later. 

\-- 

They swing through the other kids quickly, who all have predicable responses. Five stares at Raphael shrewdly, hands still moving checker pieces, and questions him about vampirism and death and clan structure until Magnus tugs Raphael away, coughing. 

Klaus and Three exist as each other’s opposites; the former boisterous and eager to meet someone new, jumping at Raphael’s cool skin; the latter closed off and tightly polite, shaking his hand formally. Magnus leaves him with them for a while as he changes, and when he returns, Klaus is messily braiding a flower crown into Raphael’s hair. 

Raphael, for his part, puts on an air of reluctance, but Magnus knows his son better than that. 

It’s good for them, maybe. To relax a little bit. 

When Ben wanders over, sneaking his way to Klaus’s side as he so often does, he’s got Vanya in tow. Her hair is braided too, blossoming with white and blue flowers that bloom and close almost rhythmically, like living music. 

He smiles at her, and she smiles back. 

Magnus grabs Ben’s attention. “Hey,” he prompts. “Luther seems... off, about the Christmas present thing. Do you know anything about that?”

Ben shrugs, his eyes following Klaus’s braiding; Vanya’s joined in now and is trying to help. “I don’t think he wants to have a Christmas.”

“And you?”

Ben tilts his head to stare up at him, expression blank. “I’m not sure. Maybe a book, for my art?”

“A sketch book?” It’s not what he’d been asking, but he gets the sense that Ben doesn’t want to talk about it. “Alright. You can think about it though, if you’re not sure.” 

“A sketch book is fine. Thanks, Magnus.” 

“Of course.”

\--

A few hours later, Raphael pulls him aside, concern and guilt etched into the lines of his body, and he knows that it’s finally time to talk about the elephant in the room. 

“Tomorrow,” Magnus decides aloud, then taps on his glass to draw everyone’s attention; it doesn’t take much, for the room to stop and stare at him. “Tomorrow,” he tells them. “Tonight, we’ll live for Ragnor, and all those that we’ve lost. Tomorrow, we’ll plan for Valentine.”

There’s no cheering, no outburst, no verbal response. But this is his family. His people. 

For the first time in a long time Magnus feels safe, knowing that they’ll fight for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *to the tune of "it's about to go down" in Timber by Ke$ha* shit's about to GO DOWN


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one Hargreeves kid who we hadn't heard from yet .. he attack, he protec, and most importantly, he BACK

Klaus is screaming for exactly one minute and forty-eight seconds before a whole body shudder rips through Magnus, and Catarina finally understands what’s happening. 

_Like a banshee._ Death follows this innocent child. This time, much like a banshee, his screaming isn’t just a signal for deaths that have already come to pass. 

Five had tried to tell her. She was too focused-- too arrogant-- to listen. 

Where death goes, death follows. 

“He’s here, Cat,” Magnus says, and she’s never seen him look this scared. 

“I know.”

\--

“What are we going to do?” Magnus asks. He’s bent over Klaus still, hands stroking, magic searching but finding nothing to land on. He won’t find anything. She doesn’t have to tell him that. “What the hell are we going to do, Cat?”

The other warlocks, who all woke up approximately two minutes and forty- _seven_ seconds ago, have stopped pretending not to listen. Of all of the Warlocks who had been at the party, about half had elected to stay the night; of those, a handful have already seen themselves out in the past few minutes, unimpressed with a child’s shrieking waking them up at 5:40 in the morning, or perhaps smart enough to see what Catarina didn’t. 

Magnus notices them watching but pays them no mind. He will allow himself this one moment of grace, she knows. _Weakness._ In this moment, she’s his strength; after that, he’ll be hers. 

That’s how they’ve always survived. 

“We’re going to get them out,” she tells him. "We’re going to let the Shadowhunters fight this goddamn fight for once. We’ll get them all out, Magnus. Right now.”

Things had gone well yesterday-- It had been a good party, lasting throughout the entirety of the day and eventually into the late hours of the evening, only a few short hours ago. It had felt celebratory. Sentimental. Safe. Catarina had been so exuberant, in fact, drunk on wine and soft lighting and her best friend’s smile—the one in which it looks as though he’s surprised himself, by smiling—that when Klaus had woken her up this morning, she hadn’t assumed the worst. 

She’d donned her scrubs and stop-watch with a snap and rose out of her sleeping bag almost blearily, shuffling the few steps across to Klaus’s cot, all of the children always within arm’s reach when she could help it. She’d checked his pulse, his pupils, as Magnus had instructed him, with futility, to breathe. She’d shaken off little Ben’s concerns, instructed Luther and Diego not to get too close, and had, regretfully, ignored Five’s solemn declaration. 

_A banshee._ She’s not even sure where Five learned that word. Klaus isn’t one, of course, but it appears at this moment that he might as well be.

Magnus is hesitating, hands shaking where they’re still hovering over Klaus’s hair, who’s wailing has lessened slightly in volume but hasn’t ceased once. She’s increased the level of oxygen in the air in front of the child’s mouth and nose, to be safe. You can only scream so long before you pass out. She’s learned that lesson enough times—she and Magnus both.

If only she could do more for Klaus. They know too little about his ability. Short of blinding him... 

_”Can’t you help him?”_ Ben had shouted at her, when the screaming had started. _“Can’t you make the ghosts stop?”_

She can’t. So she doesn’t linger on the thought. 

They have a more pressing problem: most of the remaining Warlocks can’t create portals. It had taken an enormous amount of energy to portal everyone in here, and to cloak the portal from detection. Many of them are drunk. Even those who do know how to make portals won’t likely be able to in their current state. 

She sees the moment where Magnus realizes the same thing. His gaze sharpens. His hands clench tightly to his sides as he stands up to his full height—that’s it, then. The moment of grace is over. 

“Prepare the kids,” he tells her, firmly but not unkindly. “I’ll call you in if you’re needed.” 

She can’t help but smile at him a little, a miniscule lifting of the corners of her mouth. Twenty decades and she’s still surprised sometimes how well he knows her. “You’ve got this,” she says, and he releases some breath. 

She knows him, too. 

She places a hand on his shoulder and he puts a hand on top of hers, a second of warmth, before he steps away. She doesn’t turn to watch as he moves into the library, already organizing people, already sparking up a portal. His magic smells like fallen leaves, and a little bit like fire. 

“It’s Valentine, isn’t it?” Five asks at her elbow. She startles. He’s raising his voice to be heard above Klaus, but it still comes out much too heavily for someone his age. It takes some getting used to, being around this child. “I was right: this is more ghosts than he’s ever seen before. More than around Magnus. Valentine has killed hundreds of people, right? He’s here, so they’re here.”

Catarina looks back down at Klaus, stomach tightening. His green eyes are blown wide; his gaze is vacant, stripped bare, like a rabid creature. She barely speaks over the bile in her throat. “Thousands. Should I—My magic can knock him out.”

“No,” Five says placidly. “If you do that then he can’t defend himself.”

The urge to argue almost springs words lose from her throat, but she quashes them before they form into anything ridiculous and pleading. It’s hard to imagine Klaus, with his slow, dazzling smiles and his secret nightly thumb-sucking, defending himself against anything. It’s hard to imagine any of these children defending themselves against anything. But that’s not reality and she knows it. She’s taught younger black boys—mundanes, even-- how to survive encounters with the police; younger warlocks how to snap any neck with a circle rune on it; younger vampires how to kill their pets instead of their parents.

Some people live in a world where violence is an option. Catarina doesn’t live in that world. 

Magnus babies them-- not because he doesn’t have the same realism as her, but because the tiny, twisting core of his heart wishes otherwise. The smaller, steel core of that heart, encased within like a set of porcelain Russian dolls, is determined to manifest that wish into reality, current reality be damned.

It’s why she loves him. 

But she remains more pragmatic. If Five believes that Klaus needs to be awake in case the escape goes sideways, then she decides that she believes him. “Okay.” 

“We need all of our powers. You need to ask Magnus.”

“What?” Catarina blinks at him, pulling her eyes back from Klaus’s face which had started to blur. Five’s mouth is set into a grim line as he stares at his brother, but his eyes look almost alight. “Why would you need those?”

“We’re going to fight him.”

“No, you’re not.” _Hell no._ “We’re all leaving. Now, in fact.” Magnus’s wards will have detected Valentine before he even entered the building, but the passing seconds are still more precious than she’s been treating them; they don’t know how fast he’s moving. She does a quick scan of the room. “Where’s Luther? We need to gather everyone and go. Immediately.”

 _Two Three Four Five Six._ Two are missing. Klaus will need extra magic, extra support, to get him through a portal safely in his state. Where are the other two? That means that she’ll have to take them, because Magnus won’t leave until the last Warlock is through, and Catarina won’t let the children wait that long. She saw Vanya around here a moment ago--

Five opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t get the chance. Because something crackles, and then everything goes dark. 

Her skin, which she’d glamoured back to brown before retiring to bed last night, suddenly flares blue. She catches sight of it in the split second before the Warlock-lights go out and they’re plunged into blackness. A few Warlocks in the library have started yelling; she can hear Magnus shouting over them, telling them to calm down, that they’ll figure this out.

The orangey glow from Magnus’s portal is gone. She can’t smell leaves anymore. Only fire. 

It takes her longer than it should, to fumble for a switch, and turn the lights on manually. 

\--

Five jumps in the darkness, and lands back into light. 

He felt it-- as soon as his powers came back, he felt it. Of course he did. Magnus taking them away had been like if someone had shortened his arms by a few centimeters: nothing was where is should have been, and everything felt strange. 

So as soon as the tingle comes back to his skin, buzzing under the surface like an electric current, he jumps. When he lands the lights are back on. But his powers don’t go away again. 

The magic is gone; he can see that on Catarina’s face. The warlock’s magic is gone and that means that they aren’t leaving, which is a good thing, because it means that he can fight Valentine. 

He’s ready. He _wants_ to. Magnus will act like they can’t, or shouldn’t-- _”you’re kids, you’re just kids,”_ \- but that doesn’t make any sense. They’ve always been kids. They’ve always been fighting. When you’re powerful, you need to fight. When you’re powerful, you’re a target. 

Valentine wants to kill them, or worse. Five is going to kill him first. 

And now that he can jump again, no one can stop him.

“Five, how many people can you take with you?” Magnus is already asking. He doesn’t sound alarmed-- his voice perfectly level-- but there’s fear in his eyes, which are glowing without his glamour up. He hates to have his eyes revealed. “None of us can leave here without magic, except for you.” 

So Five can leave the building now, too. Interesting, but not useful. Yet. 

“One,” Five tells him, reluctantly. “Two, maybe, but I can’t come back.” One day he’ll be able to take more, as many as he wants, whenever he wants. Father hadn’t ever let him train enough and Magnus won’t either but one day Five will make the rules, and then he’ll be stronger than he’s ever been. 

“Okay, uh, take—“ Magnus glances over his shoulder, to where a dozen or so Warlocks are standing, waiting for his orders, and then looks back to Five and his siblings, “take Vanya, and take Klaus. Ge--Get them away from here. As far as you can go.” 

It’s funny: hundreds of phone calls and meetings and conversations, and Five has never heard Magnus stutter before. _Weakness._ Except no, it’s not. It’s because he underestimates them. He’s scared for them, but he doesn’t have to be. Five has never once lost a fight.

He just needs a plan. One that’s not leaving.

“Vanya’s over here,” Catarina shouts from the kitchen, “With Luther.”

“One will help us think of something,” Three is muttering. He’s barely listening past the chattering in his own head, trying to put pieces together. “Right, Five? We need to go after Valentine.”

“Klaus is going to bring him right to us if you don’t take him soon,” Two acknowledges, nodding toward their brother. “He’s basically bea—a beacon.” 

“He is,” Five agrees, nodding. It’s true. Where Klaus goes, death follows. Gears turn in Five’s brain and then slot into place, and he smiles. “And that’s exactly what I need.”

In only a few quick steps he’s got Klaus’s arm in his grasp. Then he draws the fabric of time and space around him and he jumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm sorry for that unplanned hiatus. Please don't yell at me-- I am like a tiny crab and will scuttle under a rock at the first sign of hostility, lol 
> 
> I love you all so much!! and y'all who are reading this, who've stuck with this story, are the absolute BEST


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendly reminder for those non-Shadowhunter fans that Ragnor is/was Magnus's best friend who died in an earlier chapter
> 
> This chapter is a bit of a mess with multiple POVS, storytelling, etc but it's also about 50% longer than usual so hopefully that makes up for it ;)

There’s a story that Ragnor once told Magnus, in a small, fire-warmed house in Madrid, in Spain. 

Scheherazade. A translation derived from the name Čehrāzād—she was a character, the narrator, from what would soon be named in English as _One Thousand and One Nights._ There were no English translations at that time—wouldn’t be, for another decade or two—but the stories had existed long before in Arabic, just as they were passed on in oral histories that transcended language altogether.

Ragnor has always been a scholar more than a storyteller, although sometimes he thinks there might not be much of a difference, when you’re alive. 

So, _had been_ a scholar, he supposes. He had been a storyteller. Now he’s dead. But he’s still telling stories, at least in his own head. 

For Scheherazade, the story goes like this: she marries a man, a king and a murderer, named Shahryar. Shahryar, having been betrayed and cheated on by his first wife, had decided to marry a new virgin each day, and kill each of them the following night, so that he may protect himself from further marital hurt. 

Scheherazade is his one thousand and second wife. A thousand and one beheadings precede her.

But Scheherazade is also a scholar and a storyteller, and effective at both. She marries Shahryar, but when the time is nearing for him to kill her, she enacts the plan that her and her sister had devised. The night of her beheading, at nightfall, she begins to tell the king a long and intriguing story and he listens, drawn-in by the storytelling, lost in her words. However as dawn breaks she stops the story halfway through. The king, impatient, demands that she continue and tell him how it ends. But she refuses. Instead, she maintains that she will tell him the ending of the story the following night if he allows her to live until then; he does, and so she tells him the ending the next night, at which point she immediately begins telling him another, equally exciting tale. This one she also stops halfway through at dawn. Once again he spares her, so he may hear the ending the following night.

The next night she does the same. And the next. The cycle continues, and the days go by, two half stories per night, for one thousand and one of the earth’s rotations, and so Scheherazade saves her own life. 

Magnus had barely been listening when Ragnor had told him the story of Scheherazade that evening so many decades ago, too distracted as he’d been by his own pain to do anything other than survive it. So it hadn’t mattered, in the end , that Ragnor had told it. But it was the only story that he’d been able to remember when Magnus had shown up on his porch, sopping wet and crushed under the weight of years of watching a woman stay alive by the skin of her teeth. 

Sometimes it’s simpler to believe that Camille was the first to break Magnus’s soul, but it’s not true. Watching Ana broke him long before. And others had broken him too, even earlier than that. 

Magnus is a living rendition of _One Thousand and One Nights._ Endlessly breaking and rebuilding. Alive, too, by the skin of his teeth. Sometimes by the skin of other people’s teeth. Sometimes not alive much at all. 

In this moment, however, it’s not Magnus that reminds him of Scheherazade again. It’s Five. It’s _this_ , as Five lands, with Klaus clutched to his chest, a few hundred meters away from where-- and a few minutes _earlier_ than-- he’d been a moment ago. 

Or would be, minutes from now. Time is a little outside of Ragnor’s scope here. Or perhaps _he_ is a little outside of time’s scope. Which means that he saw it, and he remembers that he saw it. Five had grabbed Klaus’s arm and jumped. Now that hasn’t happened yet, and probably never will. The paradoxes are enough to paralyze a person. 

And yet Five is here, and Klaus is with him, and Ragnor is thinking of Scheherazade instead. Not only because he gets the feeling that in every possible multi-dimensional lifetime Five has made this exact same jump, just in a thousand and one different contexts. But also because he knows what’s about to happen next. 

“Klaus,” he whispers urgently. “Klaus, listen to me. You’re about to see a _lot_ of ghosts. A lot of angry ones. You need to keep calm, okay?”

Klaus may remember the minutes that he lived before the jump, or he may not. The ghosts arriving with Valentine haven’t happened yet, but they’ve happened to _Klaus,_ and they’re about to again. 

“Klaus, Valentine is coming. You need to get out of here. You need to--”

“Five, what did you do?” Klaus asks, dazedly but with a measure of venom. “Where did you take us? Where are the—where---?” He trails off, turning to stare through Ragnor with wide eyes. “Where..?”

“We’re still in the Institute,” Five snips. There are a few beads of sweat on his forehead. “I must’ve jumped too far back. I wasn’t supposed to get here before you started screaming, just before anyone knew what was happening yet.”

“Screaming?” Klaus echoes, then shudders. “Oh god. Five, no, I can’t. Not-- they’re--”

“They’re starting to come again, right?” Five sniffs, wiping the back of his hand across his nose. It comes away red. “Good. That means that Valentine is close. You need to draw him to us.”

“Draw him--? Five, we have to get out of here. We have to warn Magnus.”

_Atta boy. Find Magnus and Catarina._

Ghosts have begun to trickle in. A woman in the corner blinks at the wall, twirling her hands in useless circles at her waist. There are stubs where horns should be. Ragnor swallows back bile. 

“He’ll find out soon enough,” Five shrugs. “Besides, I can’t jump until the magic gets cut out again.” 

“I didn’t even know you could jump back in time,” Klaus accuses. “You never told us that.”

Five frowns, eyes scanning the wall for weapons. He grabs two blades, shoving them in his flannel pajama pockets. “I didn’t know for certain.”

“Why are we here?”

“To kill Valentine. The others never would have let me.”

_That’s because it’s a stupid plan,_ Ragnor thinks wryly.

“That’s because it’s a stupid idea!” Klaus shouts. Despite himself, Ragnor smiles. 

“And you’re children,” he adds aloud, for Klaus’s benefit. “It’s not your job to do that.”

Klaus swivels his head a fraction of a degree in Ragnor’s direction, but otherwise doesn’t show any signs of having heard him. Klaus, presumably, has had many years to learn that ignoring the ghosts is the best way to make himself less of a target. It’s only rarely that he relaxes that rule for Ragnor. Why would he? Ragnor, as nice as he attempts to be, is as dead as the rest of them. 

A nearby Shadowhunter waves at Klaus, smiling a translucent, toothless grin. Klaus ignores him too. 

“Klaus,” Ragnor cajoles, voice soft. “Klaus, they’re coming. He’s coming. And Five can’t kill him, okay? Even if he wanted to, he can’t. Valentine is too strong. You both have to leave.”

“I don’t have to explain it to you,” Five argues, shoving throwing stars into his pockets now. “Just bring him here, and get out of my way.”

“Bring him here? How am I supposed to do that?”

Five glances in Klaus’s direction. For the briefest flash of a moment, guilt crosses his features. “By screaming.”

Klaus looks perplexed. “But I don’t—“

“You won’t have a choice,” Five says. “Not soon.”

He’s right. Ghosts are filling up the room like a leak in a boat, and Ragnor is powerless to stop it. 

\---

Diego is dreaming about blaring alarms, and gingerbread men, and screaming that’s so loud that his ears bleed, when he’s awoken with a start by the sound of frenzied whispering.

Whispers always wake him up. Ben thinks that they don’t, but that’s only because Diego is really good at pretending to be asleep. 

Ben is also awake. He always stops breathing for a bit whenever he’s woken. It’s like an instinct, like how babies thrown into water will always hold their breath. Ben’s instinct is to listen for Klaus in the dark, even if that means that he can’t get air.

Luther, Allison, and Vanya are audibly asleep; Diego strains to hear the murmuring of Klaus’s voice or Five’s tight, choppy inhales, but he can’t. His fists curl into themselves.

“How far -- ?” Cat is whispering. The end of her sentence disappears into the white noise of the room. Diego tilts subtly in his sleeping bag to try to hear her better. “How—time--? – were woken up by it. We can’t— going to do?“

There’s a pause where someone says something too muffled to make out. Cat whispers something back, and then a pattering of decisive footsteps tap toward their sleeping area. Diego takes a second to relax his weight, rolling his face into his pillow. 

After a quiet moment, Cat confirms what Diego already knew. 

“Where’re Five and Klaus?” she asks. Her voice rises sharply in volume and pitch. “Magnus, where are Five and Klaus?”

Diego’s never seen Magnus run before but in a second he’s skidding to a halt next to their sleeping bags, eyes flashing and smelling like singed rubber. No one is asleep or pretending to be anymore. Not even the Warlocks in the library, who Magnus seems to have woken with some kind of quiet magic and who are milling toward them in a restless crowd. Diego glances over at Ben whose eyes are wide as saucers. 

“Luther, do you know where your siblings are?” Magnus asks, voice cutting clearly through the chatter.

“No, sir.”

Diego flicks his eyes to the ceiling. Everyone asks Number One first, as if he’s the one who actually watches out for them. As if he’s the one who protects them. Magnus still thinks One is the leader, even if he says he doesn’t. The proof is right here: he still asks him first. 

Even after everything One did. 

“They were both here an hour and thirty-six minutes ago,” Ben pipes in. “I don’t know about after that.”

“Has anyone seen them since then?” Magnus asks. Diego’s anger fades a little when he doesn’t ask Ben how he knows the exact time. They all know better than to ask. 

The silence in the room is a clear response. They’re used to answering direct questions aloud—this feels different. Magnus bites his lip and breathes out loudly through his teeth. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You five are all going to stay right here, while I look for them. Cat, can you make a portal?” 

“Make one? Sure. Make it last long enough to get everyone out?” She looks dubiously at the crowd behind her and pulls her shoulders back. “I’ll try.”

“Nora and Grave are good resources, keep them near you. Elliot can help keep people calm. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

Magnus doesn’t hesitate as he reaches down to scoop up Klaus and Five’s sleeping bags—they still own so few things, and what they do own is at Magnus’s house, so those are probably best for tracking. There’s a quick moment as Magnus clutches the sleeping bags to his chest where his face screws up and his hands shake as he presses one thumb firmly into a knuckle until it turns white. Diego looks away. 

Instead he slides his hand down into his own sleeping bag and reaches for the worn spot, the spot that he cut away inside. Between the two layers of fabric, his carvings are safe. He feels the edges of the wooden griffin. Its wings are cool, and choppy. Jace hadn’t been finished it when he’d given it to him. Diego isn’t bothered. He’ll learn to finish it himself one day. Or maybe he’ll keep it, just like this. 

_Rough around the edges,_ that’s what Jace had said. Something Jace has been called before, and could Diego relate? 

He couldn’t, but he liked the sound of it, and it made jealousy simmer low in his stomach and up into his throat. Jace had made it sound it like something good and bad at once. A claim, maybe. A badge. Something to be. This person is tough, but also good. 

No one has described Diego that way. Not even his mom. She didn’t _think_ he was good, really, or tough, or rough around the edges. She was just his mom, and he was her Diego. 

He’s never wished for anything more than what she gave him. He still doesn’t. Just, sometimes...

But if he can get her back from wherever their Father is keeping her, then he’ll never ask for anything else. Nothing else will matter. 

He’ll throw out the griffin, if it brings her back. 

For now, though, he slides it carefully back down into the fabric. 

By the time he looks back up, Magnus’s moment is over. He’s stony-faced, hands glowing, brow scrunched in concentration. With a start, Diego realizes that the sun hasn’t even come up yet. Why is everybody from the party leaving? It doesn’t make sense that Magnus is so upset about Five and Klaus. They’re breaking the rules, but Magnus wouldn’t be looking for them so intently only to punish them the way that father would’ve. And Magnus usually explains his actions. Explains why he’s ordering them to do something. 

Something is wrong. 

Magnus starts walking in the direction of the door, kinetic energy forcing him almost to a run, and then the lights go out, and there’s a guttural yell from the library. 

It’s then that Diego realizes that he’s made a mistake: he let his guard down. He should’ve been paying more attention. He should’ve been ready. He should’ve been worried.

It’s also then that he notices that Number One has gone missing, too. 

\---

Ragnor is practically kneeing ghosts in the nuts left and right, at this point—the ones that have nuts, at least, which of course isn’t always knowable at first glance, for a variety of reasons and even more so for the undead-- but it doesn’t seem to be doing much good. Klaus isn’t shrieking the way he was in the timeline before, but he’s still making a hell of a lot of noise. 

When the magic cuts out again, Ragnor only knows by the subtle way that the room takes on a new shape without the wards, without the magic ingrained in the stone. But he can’t feel it. It hurts more than it should, even the second time, but he puts that away for later. 

He’s been babbling to the boy, to Klaus, speaking every reassuring word he knows in near on every language. He can’t bear to see the child in this much terror. He’s also frustrated, if he’s being honest with himself. He longs to shake some sense into Five, or to go and find Magnus and Cat and Raphael. He was never a fighter, but he was never _this_ before, either, trapped in a plane of reality only known to a child that can’t help make him real. 

Useless. He feels useless. Useless and powerless.

If Ragnor still prayed, he would pray to anyone at all that he doesn’t have to see his friends die at that bastard’s hand tonight. Nor these children. Valentine doesn’t deserve the satisfaction. 

There’s a clinking noise as Five grabs an enormous blade from a wall fixture and regards it with keen interest. Ragnor sighs, kicking at a woman with her head dangling sideways when she gets into his site line and too close to Klaus. 

It doesn’t matter. There are too many ghosts. And Five isn’t staying in any one place. The sparks barely settle before he jumps again, relishing in the thrill of the freedom and power.

Five is scared. Hell if he’ll show it, though. Not even to himself. 

There are footsteps coming from the hallway; they echo on the stone floor, making it hard to tell how many sets there are. Klaus whimpers louder, covering his eyes with his hands. Five braces himself a few feet across from the door, large blade still in hand. It’s bigger than his torso but he manages to look menacing with it. The footsteps get closer. 

The door handle clicks. It swings open, and Five is on the man in less than a second, blade to his throat. It puts Five at an awkward, unstrategic angle, being almost two feet shorter, which he seems to realize too late. 

Still, the Shadowhunter drops his weapon, evidently startled. It clatters against the stone floor. 

“What--?”

Five raises the blade up and flips it, slamming the blunt end into the man’s jugular. He drops like a sack of potatoes, gasping and choking. Five brings it down again on the back of his head, and the man goes silent. 

“Just a regular Shadowhunter,” Five calls out, as if Klaus is even capable of hearing him. “Probably doing recon on the wing. He won’t be bothering us for a while.” He shrugs. 

Unfortunately, the Shadowhunter’s ghosts didn’t knock out when he did. They add to the growing pile, five of them sliding through the walls. They all have fangs, or had them, once—this Shadowhunter had a type, it would seem. And a penchant for trophies. Suddenly Ragnor feels less bad for the man’s trachea. 

There have to be close to three hundred ghosts now, just in this little weapons room. It’s becoming hard to breathe and harder still to squint through them to see. It’s whack-a-mole keeping them off of Klaus, and Ragnor was never very good at that game. 

A walkie-talkie on the man’s hip crackles, and Five smashes it with the blunt end of the blade. There are more footsteps in the hallway. This time Five teleports to meet them, disappearing behind the wall, and Ragnor doesn’t see what happens. He gives up on the watching, anyways, and the whack-a-mole, and decides to plop himself down next to Klaus. 

He begins to hum. 

Klaus’s head swivels to listen, even as his eyes stay unfocused. So Ragnor continues to hum. He hums nonsense, he hums snippets of lullabies, he hums Magnus’s favourite song. 

When he can no longer hum loudly enough to be heard over the clamour of ghosts, he pulls in a breath, and tells Klaus the first name that comes to mind.

Then he tells him a story. 

\----

Five is taking down his seventh guard with a loud crack when he hears his name, and it distracts him long enough for the eighth guard to swing and make contact with his ribs. It knocks the wind out of him, but they probably aren’t broken. Probably. The Shadowhunters he jumped aren’t going easy on him, just because he’s a child. 

It’s the first real fight he’s had in months. He jumps behind the guard, steals his stick and whacks him in the kneecap with it, then knocks him unconscious. Then he looks up. 

“What do you want, One?” 

Number One is at the other end of the hallway, watching him with his mouth slightly agape. There’s a pile of bodies further down the hallway behind him and a dent in the drywall. It might not be smart of them to knock out this many of the soldiers who also want to kill Valentine. Though from where Five stands they all seem pretty much the same to him, Circle rune or not. He’s overheard enough history. Besides, he doesn’t need soldiers.

“Magnus is looking for you. Where’s Four? Is he with you?”

Five gestures over his shoulder. “In there. Why are you here? Bringing me back to Magnus?”

One fidgets. His face is flushed. He’s still in his pajamas, and it makes Five realize that he’s still in his, too. Not ideal. But they do have deep pockets. “No. I was looking for something.”

Right. So One is out here when he’s not supposed to be, too. That’s not something that Five had expected. Why his perfect, constrained, authority-loving brother has broken the rules, he can’t imagine, but he doesn’t have time to guess. 

“Looking for what?”

“None of your business.”

“It is if it’s going to mess up my plan.”

“You don’t have a plan,” One counters immediately, matter-of-factly, and Five snarls. 

“You don’t know anything. Get out of here.”

One puffs up his chest and crosses his arms, but it’s for show, it always is. “Something is happening,” he says, lowly, suspiciously. “You know what it is, don’t you?” When he’s met with Five’s stony-faced silence, One shakes his head. “Don’t do anything alone. Magnus is looking for you. Come back and use the team.” 

Five waves a hand dismissively. “He’s looking for you now too, idiot, unless you told him where you were going? I didn’t think so. Go back, One.” He slams his leg backward into the groin of the man coming up behind him, then jumps a few feet backward and knocks him unconscious. “Go back,” he says again. 

One watches Five take the guard down passively, then pulls his hands back behind his lower back, glancing around the hallway like he might still find whatever he was looking for. Finally, he clenches his jaw and lets out a breath. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. But let me at least take Four.”

“No way.” Five shakes his head. “I need him.”

Though, Five realizes, the sound of all of the fighting is probably loud enough now. Four doesn’t have to be part of this anymore. Klaus was a means to an end, but there are other options, and if it’ll make One go away...

“You don’t,” Luther says. “Whatever you’re doing, you don’t need him. Let me take him back.”

It doesn’t feel right, for Four not to be here. It wasn’t part of the plan. But this is Five’s fight.

“Okay,” he decides. “Take him. He’s in that room. But cover his mouth.”

One nods like that’s obvious and passes Five to walk into the room. A moment later he comes out with Klaus over his shoulder, one large hand clamped over his mouth. Klaus has tears streaming out of his eyes, which are unfocused and red, but he’s not making any noise. Five nods back at One, and grabs another weapon from the guard at his feet. 

“Don’t come back,” he adds, as Luther turns away. “No matter what, do you understand? I’m doing this. Alone.”

One stares at him for a moment, and it makes Five itch with the simultaneous intensity and vacancy of it, like One is seeing him but from somewhere else. Or through thick, distorted glass. “Magnus is looking for you,” he repeats, and then he starts off down the hall, punching a Shadowhunter out with his one free arm as he goes by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how are y'all? are you safe? are you well? lmk. y'all are great <3


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I don't post this now, I literally may never
> 
> TW for throwing up, not super graphically but it's there

Klaus is moving. Or at least, he thinks he’s moving. Round and round, up and down, over and over and over. 

He tries to count the steps but loses track after seven, especially since he can’t actually hear the footsteps, only feel their vibrations, and the jabbing of Luther’s shoulder into his ribcage.

Why is Luther carrying him? 

Seven steps, then seven again, then seven again. 

The only number that he’s ever known, really. 

_”Klaus, it hurts! It hurts, Klaus! Why does it hurt?”_

The Institute is thick with ghosts. It’s like the day of their father’s funeral when the ground outside of the window was a sheet of ice, too brightly reflective to look at with uncovered eyes. Except that it’s the opposite. Ice reflects light and warmth outward; ghosts pull in, collect and obscure, like a drop of oil in a puddle. Torn faces flicker at the edges of his vision. The ghosts aren’t even _following_ him anymore; they fill up the space so much that he moves through them like water in a swimming pool. It’s cold going through them. 

It would be nice to feel warm. 

The friendlier ghost, the one with green skin and funny horns, follows him. His voice is low and soothing and faintly British. He won’t stop talking, doesn’t leave Klaus’s ear for a second, but somehow-- despite the tension that grips Klaus’s muscles like a vice and the desperate need to pull away, to get away, to run _run run run_ \--he doesn’t want him to. 

An overhead alarm joins the cacophony of noise. Klaus squints. It’s hard to see, hard to hear. Somewhere along the way seeing and hearing blended into one another and became the same. Some of the living are running—upside-down figures moving toward a larger, open area of the building. At the far end of the room he thinks he sees a little girl standing in front of a row of men. All of the men drop to the ground as one, and then rise again, bodies blending into spirit, their faces contorted, freshly dead. 

It’s possible that Klaus is losing his mind. 

_”Klaus, Klaus, Klaus!”_

He’s very familiar with what the inside of the human body looks like. Anatomy lessons take on new meaning when you can study the tendons in a person’s arm from your bed at night, or see the shape of a skull without the flesh obscuring one whole half of it, or press your own thumb into an artery and feel all the blood stop moving. 

Still. 

It never stops surprising him, just how many ways a person can be broken. 

_”Save us, Klaus! Make the pain stop!”_

Seven more steps, then seven more. A door clicks, 

and then Klaus’s back hits cold stone. 

It’s enough to douse his veins in ice. 

The noise stops abruptly as the door clicks shut; he’s left with the near-palpable sound of _nothing,_ like a faint breeze, not strong enough to rattle the trees but strong enough to echo. It’s all too familiar, and it hurts. 

He can’t breathe, suddenly. 

It’s not possible that he’s--

He won’t survive it. Not this time. 

He can’t. 

He curls his back against the wall, shoves his fingers into the crevices of the stone floor, scrabbling for an anchor. His nails tear and the blood only draws the ghosts closer. Klaus squeezes his eyes shut and begins to beg. 

He has to stay conscious, that’s his rule. If he loses consciousness, they get him. 

But if he begs too much, then _he_ comes back for him, and that’s much, much worse. Either way Klaus knows how this ends. It ends when _he_ lets it end. 

_Not a second sooner, Number Four!_

It’s building up. The pressure—the fear the noise the blood the-- he _can’t_. It would be so easy if he could disappear. If he could simply float away, like he did when he broke his jaw, when Grace gave him that needle...

_Fear is weakness, Number Four! It must be faced head on!_

He doesn’t want to face it. It’s shameful, and pathetic, but he doesn’t. 

But he _has_ to stay conscious. Not beg too much. Not cry too much. Not draw too much attention. Not not not--

The rules begin to swim in his head. Hands are clawing for him, he’s sure of it. The voices are building back up. 

How long will it last this time? A day? Two? 

_”Klaus, open your eyes. Look at me, Klaus!”_

He bites his lip and tastes metal. He won’t make it two days.

_”Klaus, Klaus!”_

He might not last an hour. 

_”Klaus!”_

No no no no no _nononononono---_

“-aus. Number Four! Klaus! Child, look.” 

Wait. 

That voice is – familiar? 

But this one... it doesn’t scare him.

It... it sang to him, Klaus thinks. Or maybe he dreamt that. Maybe he dreamt the voice telling him that he’s a child, and that he doesn’t deserve to suffer. Telling him that he’ll be okay, in a lilting, quiet murmur. 

He heard the story that it told him, though. One Thousand and One, the voice had said. 

Stay alive, over and over and over again.

“Child, open your eyes for a moment.” 

Klaus opens his eyes. 

He doesn’t see the nice green ghost that he expects. His heart sinks. But then he notices— one of Maguns’s other ghosts that follows him around, a man with spikes for shoulders and hair the colour of late summer grass, has pushed to the front of the swarm. He’s staring through Klaus with pursed lips and cold, beady, chilling eyes. Familiar eyes. 

One of Magnus’s ghosts. 

That means—

Magnus is here. 

Klaus isn’t _there._

He made it back to Magnus. 

He collapses against the wall, unable to hold himself upright as the weight of it crashes against him. He stares for a just moment longer, cataloguing a few more of Magnus’s ghosts in the crowd of twisted, bloody, broken bodies. Just to be safe. Just to be sure. 

Magnus is here. 

Then he closes his eyes again, allowing his steady stream of warm tears to drift him into a gentle, fading consciousness.

He lets the darkness take him. 

\--

Catarina has organized all of the Warlocks by age, ability, and willingness to fight by the time that Magnus comes sprinting back into the library, holding a long wooden stick that Allison is pretty sure that he didn’t have before. He’s sweating; after a second she realizes that he’s cut the sleeves off of his pajama shirt. 

His eyes immediately search the room for them, and she can almost hear him counting in his mind. 

He’ll find three of them missing. 

His cat eyes harden. 

“I couldn’t find Five or Klaus,” he says, to the room. “The tracking spell didn’t hold up more than a minute without my magic fueling it, and this place is a goddamn maze at the best of times. Cat, where--?”

“Luther’s gone too” Cat says, gesturing to the space where Luther should be standing, next to Allison. Ben, Diego, and Vanya fidget on her other side. “I don’t know how he slipped out.”

She says it factually, almost clinically, and Allison should feel her blood boil at the callousness of it. But she doesn’t. She isn’t surprised or angry. Why would Catarina care about Luther?

No one except her ever does. Not even their father had. 

Not even Magnus, not really, not in the way that he should. 

Magnus swears under his breath. “And none of you have gotten your magic back either, from the looks of things?”

Catarina nods, some stray curls falling into her face. “I can’t imagine why not. But nothing is working. It seems like the wards are gone too. We got most of the warlock children out through the portal before it happened. But only the children.” She pauses, gives Magnus a moment to look over the crowd of remaining adult warlocks, and flicks her eyes over to where Allison and her siblings are standing. “We’re ready to go here, Magnus, when you are. Just tell us what the plan is.”

“Who says Magnus is in charge?” someone yells from the crowd. Allison turns away just in time to see Magnus lift a carefully casual shoulder, eyes flashing toward the voice. 

“Complainers can take it up with me in my loft once all of this is over, and preferably with a side of steak for dinner,” he retorts. It’s said almost like a joke, but Allison recognizes a warning when she hears one. Apparently the rest of them do, too, because no one says anything else. 

Allison fidgets. She almost reaches behind her for Luther’s hand, before remembering that he’s gone.

“What’s h- what’s going on?” Diego whispers for only them to hear. He’s clutching something in his right hand, knuckles squeezing nearly white, but it doesn’t look like it’s a knife. “Where are Five and Klaus and—and One? Why is the magic gone?” 

“Does this mean that we can use our powers now?” Ben whispers back. Vanya ducks her head, pale as a sheet. She’s trembling, hand tapping out a furious rhythm on her thigh. Allison furrows her brow. 

“I heard a rumour that you stopped tapping,” she says to Vanya. Her sister’s head shoots up and her hand immediately freezes, halting its motion. She looks at it, then back up to Allison, her eyes round and huge. 

“I heard a rumour that you were allowed to tap again.”

“Look like it works,” Diego says. 

“I guess Magnus can’t control our powers with magic if there is no magic,” Ben agrees. 

Right. 

Except... 

Well. It’s strange to watch Magnus be a High Warlock. Allison doesn’t like it. He’s... he’s charismatic. Power radiates off of him, even in his stupid pajamas and even without his magic. Even when he’s not raising his voice or acting bossy. He just... speaks and people listen. He shrugs and they watch it. Like it matters.

Their Father was a powerful, charismatic man too. That and very little else. Their father would’ve sold them for a side of steak had he been in the mind for it. 

Even without his magic, Magnus is still more powerful than them, just because he’s an adult. And Allison—

Allison is really sick of being powerless. 

Especially when she knows— _she knows_ \-- what she’s capable of. 

She almost reaches a hand out again, this time for Vanya instead. But even without Luther here to be upset by them touching she just—

She doesn’t. 

\--

Luther does, however, show up a minute later, Klaus over his shoulder and blood—almost definitely not his own—on his fist. Allison pulls him over immediately, only pausing long enough to watch him place Klaus gently, carefully, on the floor by the library door. 

“Where were you?” she demands. “Magnus and Cat won’t tell us what’s going on.”

She glances toward Catarina again, who’s stopped giving out orders and is now walking briskly toward Klaus, shouting for Magnus over her shoulder. Her skin is still a richly saturated blue, the colour of the sky. Allison has wondered about that, has wanted to ask.

But she won’t. 

Luther sniffs, the way that he does when he’s annoyed or scared and trying not to show it. “Five knows,” he says, like she’ll understand what that means. “I could tell. But he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Knows what? Did you see him?”

“What’s going on. He’s out there, planning something.”

Allison looks back over her shoulder, to where her brothers and sister are still standing in a clump by the kitchen. Ben has his eyes squeezed shut, arms crossed over his stomach. Diego is shoving something into his sock—a knife this time, probably, though she can’t imagine where he got it. Vanya is shaking like a leaf. She’s muttering something under her breath, hands still tap-tap-tapping on her leg the way that Magnus showed her. They’re all still sleep-worn and yet coiled and ready like springs. 

You don’t grow up in their house and not learn how to wake on demand.

Privately, Allison has always considered herself the oldest. With the exception, maybe, of Five and Luther. Without either of them, it would be up to her.

“Do you think it’s... Valentine?” she asks. Childishly, she finds herself near-whispering the name, as if it’ll hurt her just by being spoken. Alarms are still blaring over the loudspeakers and it almost gets lost in the noise. Then, even more childishly, she demands again, this time with petulance, “Where did you go?”

Luther frowns. His eyes rove over her head, scoping out the scene behind her, tracking the movements of the warlocks. When she last looked they were arming themselves with planks of wood, heirlooms, statues; anything they could find in the library. “I—I wanted to—find Klaus. That’s where I went.”

 _Liar._ She almost says it, but she doesn’t. 

“What are we going to do?” she asks instead, hating how her voice cracks halfway through. Luther’s eyes narrow, focusing on her face briefly before looking past her again, this time toward nothing in particular. 

“Van- Seven can’t be left alone. She’s more dangerous than whatever is happening. I’m going to....”

“Watch her?”

“I’m not sure.” 

She puts a hand on his chest, hating his uncertainty. She needs him to be sure—he needs to be sure for himself. Something has been shaken in him since Vanya did what she did. It was bad for all of them, but.

Something happened to him that day, something that he won’t talk about. 

Something that he won’t tell her. Just like he won’t tell her what he’s thinking now.

“Can’t Magnus watch her?” she asks. “It doesn’t have to be you.” 

“He wouldn’t be prepared. He doesn’t know how much of a threat she is.”

Allison thinks of her sister, whose hand she almost held. Her sister, pale and scared and curled up like a leaf. She bites her lip. “I can rumour her. She can’t hurt anyone then.”

Luther stares at her. He frowns. “You don’t trust that I can do it.”

“It’s not that.”

It’s really not, somehow, but this is an argument that she won’t win. Luther is scared, too. He’s always been scared of Seven. They all are. 

Just another way that they’re powerless. 

“We need to figure out how far this magic ban goes,” Magnus is saying. She turns away from Luther quite suddenly, pivoting to look behind her at where Magnus is once again addressing the group of warlocks. Luther makes a small noise in protest, but she ignores him, frustration and a need for answers forcing her to _move,_ even though it hurts him to be dismissed. “But there are men out back blocking the kitchen exit. Someone needs to take them out so we can try a portal out there, on the street.”

“I’ll do it,” Diego interjects immediately, raising his voice to be heard as he steps closer toward the group. “I can take them out, I just ne—I’ll use my knives.” 

“Not necessary, chickpea,” Magnus assures, not even turning around. “We can—“

Allison opens her mouth. Then closes it. 

Magnus doesn’t like her powers, either, doesn’t let her use them. He thinks they’re something evil and destructive, like Vanya’s powers are. He thinks that she can’t control them. 

She’s _sick_ of being powerless. 

But...

it’s different now. Without the magic. He can’t stop her.

She can--

Allison opens her mouth again. Inhales. She can feel it, this time, now that she’s looking for it. Her lungs are full of her own kind of magic. 

“Is it Valentine that turned off the magic? Is he the one coming for us?” she asks, as loudly and clearly as she can. This time, Magnus turns to face her. He walks right over to her and crouches down halfway, reaching for her hands. 

“Yeah, it is, ladybug. But we’re going to keep you safe, okay? Just wait with your siblings. We’ll get you all out of here.”

She pulls her hands out his grasp. “And if you don’t?”

His expression flickers. He blinks a little too long. Then he smiles, a little too blindingly. “We will.”

Her powers mold the world like clay. Everyone knows that. But what she’s never told anyone is that—well, they mold _her_ too. They _squeeze_ and bend and work her throat, and her lungs, and her teeth and tongue. A pathway up, they push push push, and this time, once they’ve started...

She inhales. 

_"I heard a rumour that you give Diego all his knives back and let him take out the bad guys like he wanted._

_I heard a rumour that you can’t interrupt me when I’m using my power._

_I heard a rumour that you told us everything that’s going on._

_I heard a rumour that you let us help fight Valentine._

_I heard a rumour--"_

It takes Ben’s hand on her shoulder to cut her off, and she snaps her mouth closed again, gasping for breath.

Magnus has handed Diego a few of his knives already, movements robotic and expression bewildered, but she quickly throws her eyes downward and refuses to look at his face as he follows her command. She knows what it looks like, and she doesn’t want to see. 

She doesn’t hear, either, what Magnus explains, the words coming out of him equally as robotically; they’re the answers she wants, and she hears them, but doesn’t _hear_ them. 

She’s going to throw up. 

She’s going to--

Allison turns, hurls all over the floor, and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I heard a rumour that you let me leave and didn’t follow me,” she adds, and then she heads for the door and walks out into the chaos of the Institute, knowing that no one will follow her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are being kind to yourselves and taking time in this craziness to care for yourselves and your communities. <3


End file.
